


Ugly Pretty

by seamscribe



Series: Ugly Pretty [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Blind Date, F/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: This Brienne girl looks down at her hands and slowly says, “I’m guessing  Margery told you I was a model and then added photographer. She told you I was--” She gives a long-suffering sigh. “Ugly-pretty. Then she forbade you from Googling me.”





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  


Ugly Pretty

  
  
  
  


Brienne has long legs--Margery had definitely been telling the truth on that front. She also has the blonde hair, although it’s paler than he’s used to. It’s a mess from being blown in the wind. She raises one absurdly long arm and sweeps it back. Her wrist is indelicate and naked. The fine strands remind him of honey and straw. She shakes them back impatiently.

  


He can see the ubiquitous spray of freckles from here, spread more than generously across her chest. She wears form-hugging jeans that seem to be the style, although he is certain that Sansa or Margaery have never looked like  _ that _ in them. (Cersei, he studiously avoids looking at, these days.) 

  


Then again, this woman--it’s impossible to think of this Amazonian figure as a girl, although she’s undeniably younger than him--she has at least a head on Sansa, and Sansa is a tall girl. No, this woman is not just taller than most girls, she’s probably taller than most human beings south of the Wall. 

  


With the dark and fantastically tight jeans is a pair of flat (thank the gods) boots that are a lustrous-looking gray that makes the blue of her cape look even bluer. A cape, an honest to the Seven  _ cape _ , made of heavy blue wool.  

  


Underneath it is a low-cut white top that shows that--well, it shows that there’s not much to show. Funnily enough, the word Amazon was Greek for ‘without a breast’. But they were there, cradled lovingly by creamy white cashmere. He wonders how the hell she finds clothes that fit before he remembers her best buddy Renly  _ is _ a fashion designer.

  


She looks around anxiously and seems startled when she sees Jaime watching her, then strangely wary. She gives the room another desperate once over and seems to cringe a little when she realizes he’s watching her for a reason. Then she straightens up and strides over.

  


“Jaime?” She has a voice like warm butter, even if it’s apprehensive. 

  


“Brienne,” Jaime replies, with far more certainty. 

  


She hesitates before she sits down in the booth across from him. As she does, she blurts out, “You look just like your sister.” A flush immediately settles on her cheeks. “I mean, obviously, she’s your twin, and obviously you know you look like her.” She lets out a breath. “Sorry.” She takes a few long moments to settle herself and her things in the booth, growing steadily pinker under his gaze.

  


“So,” she says, pressing her lips together. Margery had certainly not been lying about those either. They are huge, unpainted and a little chapped. She meets his eyes for what he thinks may be the first time, and they are such a rich but somehow clear shade of blue that Jaime almost has to catch his breath. He has never seen eyes so beautiful, save perhaps his sister. But this Brienne doesn’t have the cutting look of Cersei’s green eyes. They are unreadable at the moment. Her flush has colored the pale skin between her freckles. It makes them look a bit...muddy. They reach as far as the deep cut of her sweater.

  


“So?” he prompts, raising an eyebrow. He wonders what her lips feel like. It’s distracting. Would it be rude to ask if she has any chapstick and to please us it if so? 

  


This Brienne looks down at her hands and slowly says, “I’m guessing  Margery told you I was a model and  _ then _ added photographer. She told you I was--” She gives a long-suffering sigh. “ _ Ugly-pretty _ . Then she forbade you from Googling me.”

  


Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Done this often?”

  


“Often enough.” She pauses and sits back suddenly. She folds her arms over her chest, which is steadily getting pinker. “I’m surprised you went ahead. Be honest, how much did you only agree to this date because you knew it would annoy your sister?”

  


Jaime is caught a little off guard. He has to admit that the mounting anger Cersei showed had made it fun to pretend to entertain the idea. Then he decided why the hell not. Indeed, he wanted to meet this ugly girl who, according to Margery, probably wouldn’t even like him. He had the feeling he had fallen straight into a PR trap there. But Margaery and Sansa both claimed that Brienne was nothing like any of the girls he’d ever dated. Not that they knew the extent of his romantic history. 

  


And of course Cersei is here with him now, even when he’s so sure he wants nothing but to be rid of her.

  


“Not entirely. I just had to meet the ugly girl who wouldn’t like me that much anyway.”

  


She looks a little unnerved by that. “So...she basically dared you?” she asks, in a voice that shrinks.

  


“No.” He waits until she looks up from the table to meet his eyes. “She tempted me.”

  


She ducks her head and mumbles, “Yes, Margery has a way with words, and she’s very loose with them.”

  


Indeed, Margery  _ had _ waxed rather poetic about Brienne’s ‘beautiful cerulean eyes’ and ‘ivory skin’. Luckily, Cersei had been there to interject that she had ‘big dumb cow eyes’ and ‘hideous freckles’. 

  


“And her nose is crooked!” She had exclaimed in outrage. “She’s rich now, for Sevens’ sake, can’t she get a nose job already?” Sansa had taken an angry gulp of her drink. 

  


“Yes, yes, it’s crooked,” Margery said with a wave. “Nice lips, though. Blonde. Taller than you.” Then she had laid her trap. “But truthfully, I’m not so sure she’d like you.” 

  


Jaime says, “Margery said you were unlike any woman I’ve ever dated.”

  


Brienne raises a pale brow and makes a grimacing kind of face into her water. “I’m sure.”

  


“She also said you had long legs, big lips, and blue eyes, so she hasn’t lied yet, has she?”

  


“Well, if you only agree with the first half of her assessment, kindly say so now,” she says, blushing still, with remarkable dignity.

  


“What assessment, again?”

  


She clenches her rather strong jaw and narrows her eyes. They seem piercing now, sharp instead of deep. “Don’t make me say it again,” she sniffs. 

  


Jaime tilts his head thoughtfully. She seems a little touchy. He has to wonder what Margaery and Sansa were thinking. Unless she simply plans on knocking him out if he offends her too badly. He thinks she could probably do it. She has rather broad shoulders and what had looked like very strong thighs.

  


Even his brief silence seems to make her antsy. She drops her arms to her sides and says, “Look, I can go if you like...but...you should really have lunch one way or the other. This place is really good. Or we could just have lunch--” though she doesn't look especially thrilled by the idea. “But I must warn you, I'm not particularly interesting.”

  


“Do you start all your dates by insulting yourself and offering to leave?” Jaime asks, not sure if he wants to smile or frown. She can barely look him in the eyes, how is she going to make it past appetizers?

  


She turns a little cool and says, “I don't have a lot of free time. I prefer not to have it wasted because a guy's too polite to be straightforward.”

  


Jaime snorts and says, “Believe me, no one has ever accused me of being too polite.”

  


A slight smirk tugs at the corner of her lush mouth. “Yes, Margery said you were a bit of an acquired taste. Perhaps she'll become a good match maker yet,” she says, sounding a little lighter now.

  


“Well, I'm looking at you,” Jaime says, leaning forward with his arms on the table, holding her gaze. “And I don't feel particularly compelled to so rudely ask you to leave.”

  


She smiles a little. “You should have the spaghetti fresca.”

  


This is better. So, of course, he decides to push his luck. “Though you do have a rather piggy nose.”

He isn't sure what he's expecting, but he doesn't think it's for her to snort—painfully ironic, though if she notices, she doesn't show it. She turns away and pulls a small tablet out of her bag. He watches her silently as she fiddles with it. Her hair falls in her face again and catches the light. Her blush has started to fade to an almost flattering shade.

  


She hands him the tablet. On the screen is a picture of her—obviously one of her modeling shots. The tip of her wide, snubby nose is painted a pale pink that matches the nail of her finger—which is pushing her nose up like a pig's snout. A pink headband with little piggy ears truly completes the picture, along with the fact that she is scowling a little.

  


Jaime bursts out laughing. He stops a moment to wonder if that’s a mistake, but she smiles a little. She has a slightly crooked tooth that catches on her lip for a moment. As if she reads his mind, she brings a hand up to cover her mouth in a rather girlish gesture.

  


She drops it quickly and says, “There was a whole shoot about my... _ unique _ features, if you hit next.”

  


The next picture is of her dressed up in fake bunny ears and biting her lip—which does make her look rather buck-toothed.

  


He clicks to the next one without permission while she explains, “The concept was your sister's idea. I think she meant to embarrass me, but the photographer actually got very into the idea...she wanted to do a horse instead of a rabbit, but I draw the line at pony play. Plus, they could only find the ears in black leather. As you can see, they were very attached to a pink theme.”

  


He laughs and says, “They're very cute. Pink looks good on you,” to which she gives him a doubtful look. “Too bad your blush goes a little past pink.”

  


“I've been asked if I needed medical attention,” she admits.

  


He turns his attention to the next picture, where she's dressed as an angel with a feathery, pink halo. She has her tongue stuck out in a show of determination while she holds a finger to the crook in her nose, as if she can move it back into place through sheer will.

  


“You seem awfully shy for pictures like these.”

  


She drops her eyes and bites her lip. She must have been exaggerating in her bunny ears. They look slightly less bucky in real life, especially when he’d distracted by her teeth dragging across the skin there.

  


“It was miserable at the time, but I was glad I did it.”

  


The waitress comes to take their orders, a cute thing in shorts that seem inappropriate for work, who is overly nice to him and a little curt to Brienne, who is perfectly polite, like a fool. No wonder she's so insecure. Hasn't she ever learned to tell someone to fuck off?

  


“She was a bitch,” he says, feeling surly on her behalf.

  


“She's mad because she asked me to shoot her and I declined.”

  


“Why?”

  


“Too conventional. As a photographer, I find that a little boring.”

  


“So,” he says, leaning forward with a grin. “Could I be in pictures?”

  


“CK Underwear would probably be glad to have you,” she shrugs.

  


“So you’d like to see me in my underwear.” He nods while she makes an incoherent noise. “I figured as much.”

  


“You’re exhausting,” she says, looking away and taking a desperate looking drink of water.

  


“Exhilarating, you mean?”

  


“Exhausting, and arrogant.”

  


Jaime sits back and sighs, “I can go if you like. You should really have lunch one way or the other.” She groans, dropping her face into her hands. “Or we could just have lunch. But I must warn you, I'm extremely interesting.” She’s  covering a smile.

  


He picks up the tablet again and says, “So what else is on here?”

  


She grabs it back. “No way I'm sitting here while you look through every picture in there. You can Google me later.”

  


“I'm definitely going to. I couldn't see your legs in any of those pictures,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

  


She shifts in her seat and ducks her head. “You'll find many that meet that requirement,” she mumbles.

  


“I’d hope so, or I’d think most photographers were blind.”

  


She makes a face and says, “Are you always this loose with your compliments? I’m beginning to think you’re a secret Tyrell.”

  


“Do you always receive them so poorly?”

  


Brienne huffs and makes quite a show of putting her tablet away and settling her things all over again with a slightly sulky look. May the gods help him if she starts pouting.

  


“Margery also said you were rich, although I bet you’re not as rich as me.”

  


She purses her lips and says, “Not many people are  _ Lannister _ rich, no, but I’m a Tarth.”

  


“Ah. Supposed to be lovely this time of year.” 

  


She starts to speak when their food arrives--brought, he notices, by a different waitress. The spaghetti fresca looks very  _ green _ and feels very cold.

  


“Yes, it’s become a bit of a vacation hot spot,” she says, looking not too pleased about it. “It’s pesto,” she adds, gesturing to his dish. “That’s why it’s so green.” 

  


“Ahh.” He can’t remember if he likes pesto. “So, what, you  _ own _ an  _ island _ ?” He takes a bite. Fuck all, that’s a lot of basil.

  


“We own about sixty percent now. We sold quite a bit of it and donated some for public use. The stables are a petting zoo now.”

  


“And you’re, what, not pleased to own the majority of the hottest vacation spot since Lys?”

  


“It’s nothing like Lys!” She says hotly. “Tarth would never treat it’s people like that. The resorts on Tarth all have to set aside a certain number of full-time jobs with benefits to natives and if they ever try to expand outside their lands, they’ll be digging in their wallets. The buyers probably wanted to kill me by the time the sale was finalized, but I wasn’t gonna watch my home get taken for a ride by a bunch of Westies.”

  


“Westies?”

  


“Ah, that’s what we call mainlanders. Tarth doesn’t really consider itself very Westerosi. I think it must be an island thing. Anyway, I didn’t think our ancestors would be very happy. I knew all about the family history and all that. I’m a little obsessed with medieval history, actually. I know that’s incredibly uncool, but I told you I was boring.”

  


“Have you ever dressed up as a tavern wench?”

  


“Gods, no. I’d look absurd. For one thing, tavern wenches are usually rather busty. I…” She shrugs and makes a vague gesture towards herself.

  


“Can’t argue there,” he says cheerfully, twirling spaghetti around his fork. “I’m a bit of a medieval history buff myself, actually. Did you know my family has a castle, creatively named--”

  


“Casterly Rock,” she nods quickly.

  


“Wench, did you Google me?” he demands.

  


She glares and says, “No. That wouldn’t be very honorable, would it? I’ve researched it for a shoot, but your sister forbade me from ever so much as laying eyes on it. And don’t call me that.”

  


“Mm. I’m sorry for my sister. I’m sure she’s terrible to you.”

  


He almost expects her to dissolve into tears, as he’s sure Cersei has reached into the depths of her cruelty--which are very deep, admittedly--for this girl, for whatever reason. He didn’t understand his sweet sister these days. He thinks more and more that he never did.

  


After a spell of silence, Brienne replies, “I admit, I was terrified of her at first...but...I realized she’s not so different from some of the models I’ve worked with. She just wants someone to pay attention to her. So when she says something I don’t like, I just sort of pretend she hasn’t said anything at all. It’s very…’I am rubber, you are glue’.”

  


Jaime leans back and crosses his arm over his chest. “You’re a liar, Brienne.” She looks so affronted that he thinks that must be the ultimate insult in her eyes. 

  


“I beg your pardon?”

  


“You’re a liar. You said you weren’t interesting!”

  


“I’m not,” she protests, flushing and scowling in confusion.

  


“You’re a jet-setting heiress who’s not at all cowed by my sweet sister. I’d call you very interesting, indeed.”

  


“You’re  _ sweet _ sister would say I cannot be cowed because I already am one.”

  


“Nonsense. I’ve never seen a cow with blue eyes.”

  


“Have you seen many cows?” she scoffs, raising a pale brow.

  


“Wench, how in the Seven kingdoms did you end up as a  _ model _ ?”

  


“That is  _ not _ my name.” She stabs her salad. “And I’m a  _ photographer _ ! And  _ other _ photographers like shooting me because it’s a  _ challenge _ .” 

  


“Don’t  _ you _ like a challenge?”

  


“I never said I was a model,” she maintains.

  


“Fine, how in the Seven kingdoms did you end up as a photographer, slash, part-time model, slash, no, really it’s just a hobby--”

  


“Look,” she huffs. “I was supposed to be a mechanical engineer. Photography was just a hobby for me. I never thought I was talented enough to do it professionally, but I needed a summer job so I wouldn’t have to go back to Tarth.” She stops and looks out the window for a few long moments. Was this what Sansa meant when she said Brienne could be ‘remote’? And when Cersei claimed she was ‘a total lackwit’? 

  


It was a moment still before Brienne continued, “I loved Tarth, but I didn’t want to stay there. I thought college would be different. It wasn’t, but I still didn’t want to go home. So I took a photography job I found on Craigslist shooting a lookbook for this new designer. That was Renly Baratheon. I didn’t know what to expect, but I liked it,” she says. “I started doing more fashion shoots because Renly would recommend me to everyone. Then, that fall…” Her voice falters and she drops her eyes for a moment. “Well, I decided that I didn’t want to finish my degree, so I dropped out and started working. It’s the only thing I’ve ever quit,” she says, sounding guilty still. 

  


“So we have Renly to thank for keeping you out of coveralls for the rest of your life?”

  


She nods and says, “He made me the first dress I ever wore voluntarily.”

  


“Oh? Describe it to me. Has anyone ever told you that you have a sexy voice?”

  


She ignores him and says, “Umm...uhh...the dress was dark blue with feathers and beads going down the front. It actually  _ fit _ . I had never worn adress that fit every where at the same time,” she laughs. “Renly’s amazing.”  

  


“Yes, you certainly seem to think so,” Jaime replies dryly. “Just as long as you know he’s taken.” 

  


“Don’t worry,” she laughs. “Loras has made it plenty clear to me.” She flushes and says, “Not that I would really think Renly would really--”

  


“What happened to your nose?” Jaime asks, before she can finish whatever self-deprecation she was cooking up.

  


“Well,” she says, running a finger over the crooked bridge. “I broke it when I was ten while surfing, but they were able to fix it. But then I got hit with a volleyball and they couldn’t fix it without a lot of work. That was something like seven years ago. People tell me all the time that I should get a nose job, but have you ever  _ seen _ a rhinoplasty? It’s horrific.” She shudders and pushes her bowl aside. “Besides,” she adds. “Now it’s the principle of the thing.”

  


She eats her salad while he finishes his so-very-green lunch, thinking that he will taste basil on the back of his tongue all day, maybe all week. Unless he tastes something else. He watches her lick vinaigrette off her lips and realizes with a start that he wants to kiss her. How long has it been since he  _ really _ wanted to kiss a woman? Even  _ Cersei? _ Her teeth catch her lip and she gives him a wary look, as if she knows what he’s thinking about.

_  
_

_ I’m going to kiss her _ , he decides, staring at her big lips underneath her crooked nose. But first, he will see how deeply she can blush.

  


“You know, wench, I think you’re taller than me.”

  


Brienne sniffs and says, “Does that bother you?”

  


“No, no, just wondering if you’ve ever found a man taller than you.”

  


“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not  _ that tall _ , quite.”

  


“Mm, tall, then, but strong? Strong enough for  _ you _ ? Strong enough to fling you down, or tear off your--”

  


“As if they’d try!” she exclaimed, burning red and glaring at him.

  


“I’m strong enough,” he says casually. 

  


Brienne splutters for a moment, shifting in her seat. “You’re a very inappropriate man!” she finally manages. “And I’d like to see you try!” she adds sulkily.

  


“Oh, you would, would you?”

  


“That’s not--I didn’t mean-- _ you are _ \--” She narrows her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I am paying the check and leaving.”

  


“You’re buying? I hope you’re not expecting me to put out.”

  


She makes a noise of outrage and begins waving for their server. Jaime catches her hand and pulls it back down to the table. “Wench, I’m just letting you know in case you were wondering if I was worth the bother.”

  


She can turn very red, indeed. “Wondering if you were worth…” she trails off faintly. She mumbles under her breath, shaking her head.  

  


“So, what did Sansa say, anyway, to convince  _ you _ to come?”

  


“It was Margaery, actually.” Shit. He knew he had fallen for one of her PR tricks. “She just said I might like you-- _ might _ .” She puts her large, pale hands, freckled with long fingers, over her red cheeks. “You’re making it exceedingly difficult!” 

  


“So, what do you think, is Margaery getting better at match-making?”

  


She stifles a laugh and waves for the check. It’s the girl from before and this time, Brienne hands her a card she rustles up out of her bag. She gives the girl a fairly cool look and says, “Go to this casting on Thursday. Ask for Sybell Spicer.”

  


The girl’s face lights up and she pours out some effusive if not very articulate thanks. Brienne gives her a small, awkward smile and nods once. The waitress seems to know better than to go on. She says thanks one more time and leaves.

  


Outside, it’s drizzling and chilly. Brienne wraps her cape a little tighter around herself. She fidgets for a moment, bites her lip, doesn’t meet his eyes, and takes a step backwards.

  


“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you,” she says stiffly, at the same time that Jaime says, “So when can I see you again?”

  


Brienne blinks at him. “Pardon?”

  


“When can I see you again?”

  


“Ahh...I mean…” She huffs and looks away in exasperation for a moment before she turns back, looking strangely wounded. “You know, you  _ really _ don’t have to be polite, I can--”

  


“ _ Brienne _ ,” Jaime says with some force. “I already told you, I’m not polite.”

  


“I don’t know, I mean, a man like you--”

  


“Wench, there are no men like me--just me.”

  


Brienne rolls her eyes at that and then says, “I should really say no. You’re a very rude man.”

  


“ _ Should _ say no?”

  


She briskly takes out her phone, examines it for a few moments, and says, “Ten days.” 

  


“Ten days what?”

  


“Til you can see me again.”

  


“Ten days?! Gods...you jetsetting heiresses,” Jaime sighs.

  


Brienne shrugs and says, “I’m very busy and important.”

  


“Fine, I suppose I’ll waste away for ten days waiting.”

  


“You’re absurd,” she says matter-of-factly. “Till then.” She starts to stride away. He also hadn’t been able to see her ass, which was a tragically missed opportunity, in his opinion. 

  


He has a sudden idea when he remembers Bronn waiting in the car for him. He deliberates for maybe half a second before he calls her name and runs to catch up with her.

  


“Do you need a ride?”

  


Brienne hesitates and says, “I was gonna take the subway.”

  


“Well, there’s no way you’d rather take the subway than ride in my chauffeured car, is there?”

  


“I can’t say I would,” she admits with a sigh.

  


“Excellent,” Jaime says, holding an arm out to her. She gives him a dubious look and declines, although he thinks she’s smirking a little when he pouts and waves her along instead.

  


Bronn gives him a bemused look when he comes up to the car with Brienne in tow, but he unlocks the doors without comment. However, Jaime suspects he’ll be hearing about it later. He’s pleased to find out that she lives rather far from the restaurant. He should probably quit while he’s ahead--after all, she’s not punched him, and she even agreed to see him again.

  


“You’re very rude,” he says.

  


“Oh, yes?” she says, giving him a wary look. “First I was a liar, now I’m rude. What have I done this time?”

  


“You didn’t give me a proper goodbye at all! You didn’t even shake my hand,” he says, drawing closer to her. 

  


“Forgive me,” she says, holding her hand out even as she leans a little further away.

  


Jaime closes both hands around hers and pulls her closer. “You know, it’s customary to  _ kiss _ at the end of a date if you enjoyed it,” he says casually.

  


“I never really said I enjoyed it,” she interjects faintly.

  


“Brienne,” he says, putting a hand on her knee. She stares at it in wonder like it’s an ancient Bravosi artifact. “Don’t make me call you a liar again.” He leans in.

  


“Who says I want to kiss you?” she mumbles against his lips. But it seems like a rhetorical question so he kisses her instead of replying. Her lips are softer even than he imagined, they‘re a little chapped but they taste faintly of honey, and when he pulls away, they’ve turned what seems to him to be a positively lurid shade of pink. 

  


Brienne blinks her eyes open, and they look darker and deeper, somehow, than they did before. She shivers under his stare and softly asks, “Was that proper?” 

  


“Much better, yes,” Jaime breathes, lowering his lips to her collarbone. 

  


Unfortunately, the car comes to a screeching halt and he only succeeds in hitting her in the chin with his head and cursing in her ear.

  


“This is me,” she says, hastily straightening her clothes and hair.

  


At her doorstep and with his coat strategically placed, Jaime asks if she’ll really make him wait ten days to kiss her again. 

  


“We’ll see in ten days,” she says with a slight smile.

  


“Wench…”

  


“You better come up with a new nickname, too!” She gives him a proper smile, sweet and free, and holds a hand out to shake. “Jaime.”

  


He shakes her hand and wonders if she’s going to be the death of him. “Brienne.”

  


She disappears into her building after another smile and Jaime returns to the car with a heavy sight. He jumps when the partition rolls down between the front and back seats. He had practically forgotten Bronn was there, even though he was the one who had so rudely interrupted them. Jaime glares at him.

  


Bronn smirks and says, “Should I have taken the long way, boss?”

  



	2. The First Day's Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day's wait.

 

 

 

Brienne only just resists banging her head on the door when she locks it behind her. She presses a hand to her chest, which is so warm that she knows it must be bright red. In fact, she imagines she must look especially absurd at the moment, puffy lips and messy hair. Yet Jaime Lannister looked at her like he wanted to...well...at least go on a second date. That had been shocking enough, on top of the shock that he didn’t get up and walk out when she gave him the chance. She knew, obviously, that he was Cersei’s twin brother, but that somehow didn’t adequately prepare her for how painfully handsome he actually is.

 

She’s torn between running into her bedroom and running into a cold shower. She does neither, because she is _not_ thinking about Jaime Lannister, not about his lips or his hands or his eyes or anything like that. She doesn’t think about them while she makes herself a cup of tea, which she has to abandon in favor of a cold shower, after all.

 

She has a message from Margaery when she gets out of the shower, shivering but feeling a little more sensible. She wants to know how it went. Margaery is strangely invested in this date. Maybe she’s trying to make up for her past match-making failures, although she’s not as bad as Sansa, and neither is as bad as her father. She doesn’t know why she’s the only person who doesn’t mind that she’s single. It’s sometimes easier to just go than to resist.

 

 _M: How was date?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_    

 

Brienne decides to be cruel.

 

_B: Great, sesame seeds were roasted to perfection_

 

Because the truth is, she’s not sure how she feels. He made her _laugh_. She had gone mostly because she was so curious to meet him, not just because of whatever Margaery said, but because he was Jaime Lannister. Could he really be as beautiful--or as cruel--as his sister? He is certainly one, but not the other. He didn’t gleefully insult her, nor did he sugarcoat things by any means. It’s a rare balance, in Brienne’s experience.

 

But she had planned on keeping the date brief and shallow--mostly because she expected it to be anyway. She has to admit that being a little quick to judge is one of her flaws, though it merely goes hand-in-hand with her stubborn idealism. He was not what she was expecting.

 

_M: We’ll talk tomorrow_

 

Which spells Brienne’s doom. Margaery is eerily perceptive when she wants to be. She’ll have figured everything out before Brienne so much as gets her coat off. She’s relentless. And she’ll probably be with Sansa, who will be quietly disapproving the whole time. So too would all the Starks if they knew. But families are complicated and whatever her feelings about the rest of the Lannisters, it’s only fair to judge Jaime on his own merit. Convenient, but true.

 

She drinks her cold tea and checks her planner. It really _will_ be ten days before she can see him again. Unless she cancels something. Which she is not doing. What could she cancel, anyway? Well, she really doesn’t need to--

 

No! Her world does not revolve around handsome men, no matter how handsome they are or how many times they kiss her, especially not handsome men who call her a wench and talk about being _strong enough_. She considers taking another cold shower.

 

She sets her phone down and tells herself that she will not think about Jaime Lannister for the next nine days and twenty-three hours. Give or take.

 

***

 

Jaime starts Googling before he even gets out of the car. The first thing Google Images lets him know is that apparently everyone in fashion is as fixated on Brienne’s absurdly long legs as he is.

 

He finds an action shot of Brienne playing beach volleyball in a matching Calvin Klein two-piece of a sports bra, which she frankly didn’t need, and tight black bottoms. She was in the air, frowning in concentration. The ball was a blur of white in the far side of the image. In the corner, it read: _I_ _spike_ _in my Calvins._

 

Her thighs really are amazing. He had hardly gotten a proper... _feel_ for them in the car. As he can see in the photo, there are freckles covering them as well. Are they soft at the top, or firm with muscle like the rest of her? She doesn’t seem like the type to wax everything off--is the hair there the same shade as the fine locks on her head?

 

 _Seven hells_ , he thinks. _I’m basically looking at internet porn now_. Would she be happy to hear that she was already somehow turning him into some green teenage boy? Then again, he had never had much need for internet porn as a teenager...

 

Her abs were flat as a board--in fact, he thinks they’re firmer than his since he’s frankly gotten lazy. The line of her waist is quite straight except for a modest curve at her hip, which Jaime happens to know turns into the firmest ass he has ever seen. He makes a mental note to ask about her workout routine. She must do a lot of squats. Then he imagines her doing squats in the same tiny shorts.

 

Bronn has to bang on the partition to let him know they’ve arrived. Jaime is thankful he’s wearing a long coat.

 

After getting inside and settling in on his couch with his laptop, he looks her up again and finds her Twitter account: _theuglyswan._ What he finds out is that she is indeed very busy, she cares about many things very intensely, and she loves ducks.

 

A regular search, however, brings up all kinds of interesting things, like several pictures of her with an absolute giant of a man, even taller than her, with a great gingery beard and a ridiculous shit-eating grin. He is very rich and _very_ handsy. There are grainy pictures of them kissing in the corner of an awards party (where Brienne won Best New Photographer) and a black-and-white shot of her staring into the distance with her camera and a bottle of scotch on the table, Giantbane Scotch--the reason the damned giant is so rich.

 

Then he finds something _really_ beautiful: her collection of antique swords.  There’s also a huge shield and an antique helm. He greatly regrets not asking to come up. Of course, as a Lannister, he had access to about a million antique swords, but it was always exciting to see something new.

 

Was that what this was? Was he just excited that he had felt something besides boredom with a woman besides his sister that had him feeling so silly, stalking her on the internet?

 

He read that a few years prior, she had sworn a vow to never work with a  male model called Ramsay Bolton again after he had apparently assaulted her beloved Sansa Stark. When push came to shove, she had quit a project that paid half a million gold dragons because they had wanted to hire Bolton. In the end, the magazine had given in and dropped Bolton to get her back. Jaime bets she wasn’t even smug about it.

 

That explains her close connection with the Stark girl. They’re thick as thieves, and Brienne has shot her in every kind of way, romantic, modern, austere. This is evidenced the most by a behind-the-scenes video Sansa posted where she coaxes Brienne into an impromptu interview. Brienne said she wanted to be a knight as a kid. They have that in common. She plays about a dozen sports and likes to cook traditional Tarth dishes when she’s homesick. Her older brother told her never to trust men.

 

“Sansa,” Brienne finally groaned. “We need to get back to work. I need to--” And then she explains something about the focal length of the camera that Jaime doesn’t understand, so he focuses on watching her lips. They’re painted red. She has lipstick on her teeth.

 

She wears lots of Renly Baratheon and is very buddy-buddy with every Tyrell. Margaery is her stylist. Loras is her publicist. How has he never met her before? Then again, he had never been all that compassionate before, so perhaps it’s better this way. He hates to face the fact that he might very well have been one of the men who turned their noses up at her at one time, when he was younger and more stupidly self-centered.

 

Well, not _self_ -centered.

 

When Tyrion finds him some time later, he happens to have found another picture of her swords, this time with her holding it in a vaguely chainmail-ish top, looking extremely serious staring down the blade in black-and-white.

 

“Brother, why are you lurking in the dark looking at a picture of a man with a sword?”

 

“That’s not a man,” Jaime scoffs. “It’s my date from this afternoon. Trust me, she can look plenty, uh, womanly.”

 

He clicks back to a picture of Brienne at some awards show in a dress that might be a bit more modest on a shorter woman, but on her is a decidedly miniature skirt. Then he shows a picture of her from some very weird shoot in which she’s wearing something vaguely bridal looking and holding an antique birdcage full of parakeets. He’s unclear on whether the parakeets are significant. These fashion people are confusing, frankly. Anyway, Brienne’s eyes are made up with a soft blue, her hair in curls, her big lips painted a glossy blood-red.

 

Tyrion whistles and says, “See, this is why I don’t trust models.”

 

“You get very intimate with women you don’t trust, in that case.”

 

“Is _this_ the ugly girl Cersei is always complaining about? She cleans up nicely enough, obviously. Hmm. Rather piggy nose. Pretty eyes. Anyway, you seem more pleased than you ever have coming back from any other dates, so I suppose I approve. More than I can say for any of the rest.” He takes it upon himself to start looking through more pictures of Brienne, but not before muttering, “ _Any_ of them,” under his breath. “Why am I not surprised you’d manage to find a girl who has as much of a--well, _likes_ swords so much?”

 

“She used to be a champion fencer.”

 

“Good gods, man, you sound like her publicist!”

 

“No, that would be Loras Tyrell. She’s really in with the Tyrells--she even directs commercials for the old Rose Queen’s old biddy make-up line. She and Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark--an odd trio, don’t you think?”

 

“Indeed. I’d be sure not to cross her. The Tyrell women are very cunning. Anyway, Margaery and Sansa _Stark_? How have I not already met this girl.”

 

“Perhaps you did and you just couldn’t see her face. She _is_ very tall.”

 

“I would hit you if I thought you’d feel it,” Tyrion sniffs. “At least you’ll finally know what it’s like to be smaller than a woman.”

 

“ _Anyway_ , you’ve never met her because she’s from Tarth, which was ass backwards and only accessible--”

 

“By boat, I know. I’ve been. I told you you should have come with me! You could have met your gentle giantess years ago.”

 

“I don’t think she cares to go home much,” Jaime muses, thinking of the way her words had really only faltered when she spoke of her home.

 

“Yes, I can imagine it wasn’t very fun with a face like--”

 

“Reconsider your words, brother.”

 

“You’ll be saying such things a lot if you go out with her again, you know,” Tyrion replies mildly.

 

“If she _deigns_ to go out with me again,” Jaime corrects him.  

 

“Oh?”

 

“She is _not_ easily impressed.”

 

“Interesting. It sounds like she might be exactly what you need, brother."

 

“She claims to be busy for the next ten days,” he sighs.

 

“Let’s hope she doesn’t come to her senses and run away screaming before then, yes? Is she safe from our so very sweet sister?”

 

“She’s not afraid of Cersei,” Jaime replies, feeling strangely proud of this woman he hardly knows.

 

“Now I _really_ must meet this girl! Are you sure you can wait ten days before you start pestering her?”

 

“Well…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birdcage picture:  
> https://models.com/work/vogue-korea-mystic-blue-2/97736


	3. Can't Hardly Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do they make it to day ten?

 

  
  
  
  
  
Brienne is thinking about roses.

 

She hates them, actually, but Highgarden roses are golden, so it’s not so bad. Specifically, she is trying to imagine a way to work in a heavy rose theme to this make-up shoot without it being too cliche or corny. Maybe headdresses made of roses would work. But would it work with gold? Gold eyeshadow is a little on the...disco side.

 

Well, that would be the make-up artists purview. She shifts through a few headshots, trying to project giant, flowery hats on different models in her mind. She’s half-looking at lipstick shades and half-worrying about whether they’ll have to have all these stupid roses custom-dyed. What if the dye ran onto the clothes? There was always something going wrong on set. It’s part of what has made her career--she never panics under pressure. She is, as she tells herself in stressful moments, as serene as the waters of Tarth on a still summer day. As immovable as the mountains, as impenetrable as the jungle. Then she imagines a strip of empty beach and herself, utterly alone, and feels comfort.

 

Her phone rings. She considers not answering it because her head is full of those damn golden roses and she feels like she might have a proper idea soon. But it’s nine-thirty, so it might be important. It’s the middle of the night in Tarth. She doesn’t recognize the caller and she answers with some apprehension.

 

“Is this a leggy blonde with a piggy nose?”

 

Brienne didn’t realize until that moment how memorable Jaime’s voice is. Just the sound of it over the line makes her shiver and remember the sensation of his scruff against the tender skin of her neck, right before the sensation of his forehead smacking her in the chin. She searches for a clever response for a moment too long and his laugh comes down the line. “Hello? Are you turning all sorts of red over there, wench?”

 

Brienne switches the phone from one sweating hand to the other and says, “What will you say if I tell you no?” She is out of her element. She’s never been quick with comebacks. Still, she held her own at lunch, she supposes. She can do this.

 

“Then I’d ask if there was an heiress in a cape.”

 

She lets out a breath and says, “Okay, it’s me.”  _ Maybe _ she can do this.

 

“You don’t say. Anyway, I’d know that voice anywhere. Has anyone ever told you--”

 

“That I have a sexy voice? Yes, a very strange and inappropriate man said the same thing the other day.” He laughs and she takes a second to enjoy the sound and knowing she caused it...on  _ purpose _ . “It’s awfully late. Everything okay?”

 

“Awfully late? It’s nine-thirty. You’re a sorry jet-setting supermodel, wench.”

 

“I told you I was boring.”

 

“Well, now you can prove it to me. I happen to be very close to your apartment and very tired of waiting for you to make room in your calendar for me.”

 

Brienne frowns to herself. She should not feel her heart racing or warming when he calls her by that ridiculous and demeaning nickname, nor should she feel pleased that he’s demanding-slash-begging to see her.

 

“It’s only been six days.” Brienne says, as if she hasn’t spent the last six days willing time to go faster.

 

“Believe me, I know. You didn’t even give me your number so I could send you inane texts like the kids do these days. I had to get your phone number from the Stark girl. She almost wouldn’t give it to me, but since you said you utterly adored me, she said it was okay.”

 

“I most certainly did not say that to Sansa, and Sansa most certainly did not say that to you,” she says with a helpless laugh. There he is making her  _ laugh _ again!

 

The day after her lunch with Jaime, she had a late breakfast with Sansa and Margaery, having steeled herself for their probing on the way to the cafe. The girls restrained themselves admirably for all of ten minutes before Margaery threw her napkin down and moaned, “Brienne, why are you so cruel to me? How did your date go? I’m dying here!”

 

“I’d like to hear about it, too.” Sansa had added.

 

So she had told them that he was  _ rude _ but not  _ mean _ , and he had made her laugh.

 

“Wow,” Sansa said in wonder.

 

“What?” Brienne had said defensively. “I  _ laugh _ .”

 

“I don’t know, normally you have to meet someone, like, eight times before you even so much as smile.”

 

“What?! I smile all the time, it’s just polite.”

 

“Yes,” Margaery had interjected. “You smile  _ politely _ , with your mouth closed. Is that how you smiled at Jaime?”

 

“......No.” She had suddenly become extremely interested in her quiche. “But I’m really busy for awhile, so I’ll see how I feel next week.”

 

Margaery peered at her and said, “Did he kiss you?” Brienne had met her eyes only over the rim of her tea cup and nodded. But she must have turned too red because the other woman narrowed her eyes and said, “You made out with him.” Brienne hadn’t bothered to reply. “Did he come up? I’m surprised you didn’t get distracted by your swords,” she had scoffed.

 

Brienne admitted that Jaime gave her a ride home in a chauffeured car and Margaery had practically gotten the vapors at the implications while sweet Sansa had watched in confusion and slight concern, saying, “Just remember that you can’t really trust a Lannister.”

 

Jaime says, “Did you--not give it to me for a reason?” The apprehension in his voice is shocking to her.

 

“ I just forgot,” she says quickly. “It’s a bad habit. That’s probably why Sansa gave it to you. But not to harass me! It’s very rude to call past eight and demand to come over, you know.”

 

“I’m a night owl. What, do you have to get up at four AM to run ten miles and drink egg whites? You seem like the type.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Brienne mutters, glaring at the floor in front of her. “And I don’t drink egg whites. Gross.” But she does have a complicated early morning fitness routine that involves health drinks and, in fact, egg whites, although in an omelet rather than in a glass.

 

“So what do you say? I promise not to do anything I wouldn’t do in the back seat of a car,” he says, with total innocence. “Besides, I want to see these swords.”

 

She takes a deep breath, her heart pounding, and says, “Do you remember where I live?”

 

“Course I do. Best ride of my life. Car ride, that is.”

 

“Jaime!” She means for it to sound stern, but it doesn’t come out very firm. He gives a low laugh that makes all the heat that has settled on her skin melt together.

 

“I’ll be happy to see more of that blush,” he murmurs, like he can see her. “But don’t give yourself an aneurysm on my account, Brienne. My conscience couldn’t take it.”

 

“ I’ll have a doctor on standby.”

 

“Then I’ll see you in twenty minutes. I do have one favor to ask, though.”

 

“What’s that?” she asks apprehensively.

 

“Can I see you in your Calvins?”

 

She will never get used to the idea of people Googling her. At least the Calvins shoot had actually been fun. She doesn’t want to know what else he might already know about her. She leaves that stuff to Loras.

 

“I can do that,” Brienne replies. She has Calvin Klein that shows nothing. She finds herself looking forward to his expression when he realizes that.

 

Before she can get flustered or awkward or generally freaked out, she says, “Till then.” She hangs up and breathes a big sigh of relief, slumping over on the couch. But her ordeal has just begun.

 

She won’t have time to get Margaery over her to do her make-up or suggest an outfit. Then again, she hadn’t been there to do her make-up for her date, and when Brienne had mentioned that she hadn’t worn lipstick, Margaery had held her face in her hands and moaned incoherently. But she had suggested the cape, and the tight, dark jeans. Wearing flat shoes went without saying, although Jaime hadn’t actually seemed to care that she’s taller than him.

 

In the bathroom, she scrutinizes her reflection even though she thinks she must have every freckle memorized by now. She has spent hours glaring at it as if her anger could fix the kink in her nose or make her lips just slightly smaller or her hair slightly more...something. This was before she had Margery to shove deep conditioning hair masks into her bag when she wasn’t looking, and to explain what a diffuser is.

 

She had worn blue mascara to set once and Margaery and had nodded and said she approved the risk-taking,  _ but _ ….and she had managed to gently push Brienne into her make-up chair, and had been doing so ever since. It had taken on the familiarity and comfort of a ritual and Margaery always looked blissfully happy when she was done.

 

But despite the endless supply of beauty products and unsolicited advice, the only thing she does religiously is put on chapstick and sunscreen. Most days, she wears mascara and fills her brows in a little, or else they disappear if the sun comes out, and no matter how many shoots she does without them, people  _ need _ eyebrows.

 

She decides not to do more than she did at lunch. If she thinks nine-thirty is so late, how can she have on a sexy outfit and a full face of make-up without looking like a fool? She settles on the sweater she’s already wearing, a pearly cashmere sweater that would be baggy on many women but is cozy on her. But she can’t stay in the incredibly short shorts she’s wearing.

 

Luckily, she has Calvin Klein leggings that are perfectly conservative...aside from being skintight and having strips of mesh going up the sides. She still doesn’t put on lipstick, but she does rub sugar and honey over her lips first. She had never known before Margaery that you could exfoliate your lips. She puts on mascara and brushes her hair and spends the next ten minutes in an agony of waiting. She ardently hopes she’ll be able to keep her cool face--he has a knack for unsettling her.

 

She also hopes he doesn’t think coming over at nine-thirty implies anything. Jeyne Pool--after expressing complete and utter shock that they had gone out at all--had casually asked her if she was going to... _ sleep with _ Jaime and Brienne had replied that she doubted it since they had just met. Jeyne had shaken her head and essentially replied that she should hurry up and do it before Jaime changes his mind.

 

But she’s not sleeping with him until she’s 110% sure that it isn’t an elaborate prank by his sister. She hasn’t run into Cersei since her lunch with Jaime—surely she would call to gloat or something if it was a joke. Maybe Jaime didn’t tell her about it. They don’t seem all that close, which seems sad for twins.

 

She’s not a virgin. She doesn’t like to think about how she actually lost it--but she’s not. In fact, she dated her first real boyfriend Sandor for over a year. They had even lived together. Looking back, it was rather dysfunctional. They hardly ever had sex, and when they did it was gentle and solemn and quiet, more about feeling close to someone than any real lust. They were kindred spirits in being outcasts, but it also kept them at a distance from each other.

 

Still, he had made her feel accepted. He didn’t lie to her about her looks and tell her she was beautiful, which she appreciated. He was the most straightforward person she had ever met, and she had needed that at the time. But they argued over her tendency to be nice to people who didn’t deserve it. It drove him crazy to no end. Brienne understood--there were times she asked herself why she bothered being kind when she seemed to get little enough of it back. But kindness was just a fundamentally  _ Brienne _ trait, just like cynicism was a fundamentally  _ Sandor _ trait.

 

But Tormund...Tormund Giantsbane was passionate about three things above all else: jazz, whiskey, and women. Women in general and the woman he was pursuing at any given moment, which was her for a time, and the force of his affections was  _ considerable _ .

 

That kind of attention was thrilling at first. He made her feel like a different person. The problem being--she didn’t  _ want _ to be a different person. He didn’t understand why she would be shy and quiet when he knew she could be otherwise. He thought she was playing hard-to-get. As if! His reaction would be to shower her with praise and gifts and attention until she felt ready to melt into the earth in embarrassment. It had been a wild few months, but it had only taken that long for it to grow tiresome. (That said, the sex was amazing, when he wasn’t chafing her skin off with his absurd beard.)

 

But  _ they _ made sense.  _ They _ did not make her look like a joke just by standing next to her.  _ They _ were not  _ Jaime Lannister _ .

 

It’s actually been twenty- _ two _ skin-crawling minutes when her buzzer sounds.

 

When she opens the door, Jaime is holding a bottle of champagne and grinning as he gives her a slow once-over. “The spotted heiress herself,” he says, looking into her eyes as he steps through the doorway and closer still, until he’s close enough to kiss her, which he does. It’s brief and soft and it makes every inch of her skin itch as if it’s been caressed too lightly. 

 

He tilts her chin up and gives her a thoughtful look. “You know, wench, you’re much uglier in daylight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments :) I don't know how long this story will end up being but at least a little more, especially after a cliffhanger like this!


	4. Please Come In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Jaime even make it past the front door?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this story roughly sketched out and some scenes finished so hopefully it will see completion!

  
  
  
  


 

Please Come In

 

 

 

_ He tilts her chin up and gives her a thoughtful look. “You know, wench, you’re much uglier in daylight.” _

 

As a fashion photographer, Brienne has heard the phrase  _ close your mouth _ countless times and it’s the only reason her own doesn’t gape open, as it’s wont to do.

 

Before she can reply, he continues, “Mayhaps you should go on more dimly lit dates. I mean, if you ever have occasion to date again, that is.”

 

After a bemused moment where she considers punching him, she replies, “Is that some absurd Lannister way of proposing?”

 

“Nothing a Lannister does is absurd. Got any flutes?” he asks, holding up the bottle of champagne.

 

“What are we celebrating?” Brienne asks warily, taking the bottle and leading him towards the kitchen to get glasses. The kitchen is the same cool marble, stainless steel, and blonde wood as the rest of the apartment. It’s the opposite of her stately old castle in Tarth, aside from the imported marble. It was pricey but worth it to feel like she had a place in King’s Landing for true, and to never have to worry about finding a place with tall enough ceilings.

 

“Our engagement, obviously!”

 

“I never said yes.” She pops the cork and fills two glasses.

 

“Fine, then we’re celebrating the fact that you dropped your terrible ten day rule.” He holds his glass up for a toast.

 

“It wasn’t a  _ rule _ ,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I was  _ busy. _ I  _ am _ busy.” She touches the rim of her glass to his with a glare. “And just so you know, this doesn’t count as a date, so you can’t complain that I’m rude for not kissing you when you leave.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll kiss me before then,” he says dismissively, taking a drink. “I hear this is very good champagne, if you care. I know you prefer  _ whiskey.” _

__

Brienne takes a drink of her champagne, turning slightly red. He’s obviously been reading up on her. “I have some if you want. I have a favorite brand, a very close friend gifted me with a bottle,” she says innocently.

 

“ _ Wench…” _

 

“That’s not my name,” she says, taking another drink.

 

“Does champagne go straight to your head? Just asking for your well-being,” he says with a winning smile. _ “ _ Maybe we should sit down.” He follows her into the living room...after grabbing the bottle.

 

“What were you doing so close by?” she asks.

 

“Thinking about you, apparently. I hope you didn’t forget about me after six long days.”

 

Ha...if only he knew how much time she’s wasted the past six days remembering his laugh or cross-analyzing his words or wondering what might  have had happened had his very rude driver not braked like a madman. She found herself looking in the mirror and hearing his voice echo in her head,  _ You do have a rather piggy nose. _ But it makes her smile somehow.

 

“I didn’t forget,” she mumbles against the rim of her glass. She downs the rest of it and holds her glass out. “It  _ does _ go to my head a bit,” she admits, keeping her eyes on the rug between them.

 

He smirks and pours her a generous amount. “You’ve proven yourself a liar again, wench. You said I could see you in your Calvins.”

 

“You will be apologizing, Lannister, because these  _ are _ Calvin Klein. It’s not my fault you know nothing of fashion,” she sniffs. “And that’s not my name!”

 

“But you smile every time I say it,  _ wench _ .”

 

“I do not,” she says, trying in vain not to smile, even a little bit. “It’s the champagne,” she adds, taking a hurried drink while he laughs.

 

“What important late night work did I interrupt?”

 

“Just imagining giant flowers on peoples’ heads. I need to work in roses. Lots of roses. But naked women covered in rose petals is just so  _ boring _ . And a horse! They’d like a white horse too, if I can work that in. Do you like horses? Your family probably owns a lot. We have horses on Tarth. I had a horse. I’m sorry, I’m rambling.” She takes a more conservative sip and sets her glass down. “I was just brainstorming.”

 

“I like horses.”

 

“Oh.” She blushes and gives a nervous laugh. “Uh, that’s good. I mean...doesn’t everyone like horses, though? I like ducks.”

 

“I like ducks, too.” He sets his glass down. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. What about you?”

 

“A bit. A small bit. Hardly at all, really.”

 

“Why are you turning so red then?”

 

“It’s the champagne.”

 

“You’re a bad liar,” he smirks. He gestures to the headshots and color samples on the coffee table. “Does the photographer always design things?”

 

“No...I started out just following directions, but some people liked my input. I mean, this is for Olenna, so she trusts me. Roses everywhere.”

 

“Have you got sick of them by now?”

 

“They’re okay. I hate  _ red _ roses.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Got them on a bad date once.” What an understatement. She still vividly remembers being pelted with them while Ron Connington laughed himself sick, right before she knocked him out, but that’s a story she will take to her grave, something she’s never even told Sansa or Margaery.

 

“No roses, got it. My brother told me he’s been to Tarth and it was beautiful. Will you tell me about it? Has anyone ever told you--”

 

“Oh, can it, Lannister,” she mutters, taking a drink. “Tarth is very small and it was very quiet when I was growing up. The resort side has a lot going on now. The first time I saw a  _ nightclub _ on  _ Tarth _ , I thought I was dreaming. Or having a nightmare. Either way. When I was growing up, we didn’t even have an airport--the only way to get to the island was to take a ferry from Storm’s End. Did your brother stay at the resort?”

 

“Oh, my brother lives for the lap of luxury. He likes to call himself the god of—ahhh, never mind, actually.”

 

“Well, Evenfall Hall, our family estate, is on the south side of the island. The resorts are at the north end, and there’s a whole lot of jungle in between, and mountains, and vales, meadows…just about every bit of scenery you could ask for in one hot, sunny place. The beaches are white and the waters are so blue that they call it the Sapphire Isle,” she says, with a wistful sigh. It has been too long since she’s been home.

 

“Fitting that your eyes are so blue, then.”

 

“They run in the family, just like the height. We’re descendants of Duncan the Tall, or so they say. I found his shield in the armory.”

 

“You have Duncan the Tall’s shield?” Jaime asks in wonder. “Wow...I will definitely have to visit Tarth. Do you go back often? Does your family still live there?”

 

Brienne knows that Jaime’s mother passed away when he was young, but she doesn’t feel like bonding over dead relatives. Plus, she’s got quite a few on him. She settles on a very partial truth.

 

“Only my father lives on Tarth.”

 

“Are you close?”

 

“Very close.”

 

“Did he have a heart attack when you said you wanted to go away for school?”

 

“No, not really...he knew I...needed to get off the island. I do think he thought I would come scampering back from the big, bad city, but he’s glad I didn’t, even if it means not seeing me too much. At least now we have an airport,” she shrugs, taking another drink. They’re about halfway through the bottle. His hair gleams in shades of honey and gold, even in the low lights. Is it possible to feel weak at the knees while sitting? Maybe if your knees were so close to Jaime Lannister’s?

 

“Anyway,” she says. “What was Casterly Rock like as a kid?”

 

It seems like it may have been the wrong question because Jaime’s expression changes and he looks away from her out the window. After a moment, he replies, “Lonely.” He turns back and says, “Our mother died, our father was cold, and my siblings hated each other. The waters weren’t warm and gentle like your Tarth, they were cold and frothy and dark.” He takes a hasty drink. “Still, I used to jump off the cliffs when I was a kid, as I’m sure you did, too.” 

 

“I did, as a child, then I upgraded to surfing. Much more thrilling. Too cold for that at the Rock?”

 

“I don’t think I’d have the stomach for those waves, but you’re welcome to try.”

 

“Shall I break my nose a third time and see if it all evens out?”

 

“I’d like for your face to stay just as it is,” Jaime says. He moves towards her and puts his hand on her knee. It feels as foreign and conspicuous as it had in the car, but the warmth of it sinks through her leggings much faster than her jeans, and there’s no threat of head injuries now either. His hand moves up to her hip and she has to angle her folded-up legs away to let him come closer. His eyes seem to hover on her lips.

 

“You mentioned kissing earlier,” he says, plucking idly at the hem of her sweater, his fingers not quite brushing her skin.  

 

“Yes...you seemed very sure that I’d be kissing you. Perhaps right about now. You’re a very arrogant man, you know..” They’re both leaning in at a snail’s pace. Brienne is amazed she can stomach the anxiety of waiting for his lips to meet hers, but when they do, all her other thoughts blissfully dissolve. Jaime’s fingers run over the skin of her neck and trace the top of the sweater. They’re a little calloused, callouses from riding and fencing, the same as hers. That is a strange thought. Someone being like her.

 

His mouth slants over hers and her only complaint is that they can’t get any closer this way and she can’t quite bring herself to suggest they lay down. In the end, she doesn’t have to suggest anything because they slowly become horizontal, pressed close together on their sides, so close that they can feel each other’s breath filling their lungs and feel it sweep over each other’s cheeks in shallow puffs. His fingers inch under her sweater to spread over her ribs and feel her heartbeat there, too. His lips wander over her chest.

 

After a lifetime of silence, he murmurs against her skin, “I can see your nipples, wench.”

 

“You cannot,” Brienne replies, refusing to look down and check. He puts  his mouth over one and she can feel the heat and wetness of his mouth soak through to her skin and can’t hold back a little noise that is  _ not _ a moan. 

 

“I can now,” he says, with immense satisfaction.

 

“That can’t be good for the fabric,” Brienne sighs as his lips skirt the neckline of the sweater. “You know, I don’t usually do this...umm...with men I really hardly know,” she stammers. Tormund had chased her for weeks before he could so much as touch her shoulder with a glare.

 

“Well,” Jaime says, pausing to lay his head on her chest. He smells like expensive cologne. “I hardly ever get to a second date.” She snorts and he lifts his head, giving her a serious look. “I mean it. I’ve gone out with a lot of women and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve ever cared to see them again.”

 

“This doesn’t count as a second date,” she says with a nervous laugh.

 

“You just said that to get out of kissing me, which didn’t work at all, but I admire your dedication to pretending you don’t find me devastatingly handsome.”

 

“I work with devastatingly handsome men all the time,” she scoffs...but she had certainly never kissed them.

 

“But you certainly never kissed them.”

 

“I have to go the bathroom,” Brienne says abruptly, slipping a hand between them and pushing him away with possibly more force than she needs to, but she suddenly needs to get away from him and his lips and stupid eyes for a moment before she starts wondering if he can read minds.

 

His voice follows her to the bathroom, calling, “Why do I feel like I scared you away just now?”

 

_ Scared you away _ . She finds herself sulking a little at the implication. She’s not  _ scared _ , she’s just...well...damn. She doesn’t get scared by things anymore. She is as tranquil as the waters of Tarth on a still summer day and she’s not a naive little girl anymore like she was when she came to King’s Landing, or the anxious and awkward and overly tall teen she was in school, or even the still-unsure woman she was a few years ago. 

 

And even if she goes to him now and he laughs and says it was all a jape, she’ll give him a placid smile and say ‘you got me’ and no one will ever know how much it hurts.

 

Water, mountains, jungles. She is Brienne Tarth. She is an island.

 

When she gets back to living room, Jaime is sitting on the couch, looking worried. She feels guilty when she realizes that if their roles had been reversed, she would have run out the front door by now, dying of humiliation inside. 

 

“Uhh, sorry. It was urgent.” she says, sitting down next to him. She puts a hand on his arm and says, “Maybe we can, umm...just stay upright for a little while, yeah?”

 

He smiles and leans back on the couch. He holds his arms out invitingly and says, “What about semi-reclined?”

 

She hesitates for a moment—this looks awfully close to cuddling, and that seems more intimate than a thousand kisses. But she can’t resist Jaime’s hopeful look, so she stiffly sits back next to him, not too close, with her eyes straight ahead. Even when she can hear Jaime chuckling under his breath at her, she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes for a moment.

 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she grumbles, turning slightly towards him.

 

“But you’re funny,” he protests, drawing her closer. She fights him half-heartedly for a moment before she settles next to him with a huff. They sit in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a while before he asks if she’s ever been to Lannisport. He tells her about staring out at the Sunset Sea and hiding by the docks to watch for the mermaids that the fishermen talked about. Brienne recalls some of the mermaid stories of Tarth, of which there are many.

 

“It was said that there were mermaids in the caves that were as pale as the marble in the mines and when the moon was high, they glowed and drew in  humans, and if they found the humans to be good, they would take them to their undersea kingdom. When someone doesn’t want to tell a child that someone died, they tell them the mermaids took them to their secret kingdom where they could talk to fish.” It was what her septa had tried to tell her when her brother died. She never believed it. She knew what death was by then.

 

She continues, “It’s what they used to say when soldiers died at sea, too, but there’s not much threat of piracy on Tarth as far as I know. The fishing is easy since the waters are mostly peaceful. At least it  _ was _ easy, until the resort moved in and snatched up some of the best fishing lands.” She takes a deep breath and a sip of champagne. “Sorry, I have a real--Jaime, have you fallen asleep?” She asks incredulously.

 

“You have a nice voice,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed. “And you hate the resort. I was listening.” He moves closer to her and definitely crosses the line into cuddling and as weirdly comfortable as she feels with him, she still has to struggle not to tense up. His hand skates down her side to her hip and then further still, until he reaches--and it is a reach--the back of her thigh. He squeezes and says, “We should work out together,” he says.

 

Brienne leans back with a frown. “Huh?”

 

“I wanna watch you do squats,” he says seriously.

 

She can feel the blush spread across her face in what seems like record time. “Jaime!”

 

“Ahh,” he says, kissing a spot behind her ear that makes her jump. “Say it again, wench.” He pulls her closer, until she can feel him pressing hard against her thigh with a soft growl while his other hand is slipping under her shirt and warming her skin. 

 

“No. Were you thinking about squats the whole time I was talking about the myths of Tarth?”

 

“My gods, wench, I heard all about the dead sailors and sad children, I promise.”

 

Brienne makes a face and then another face when he laughs at the first one. “You’re terrible,” she grumbles. She sits up and pushes his shoulder before getting up and holding a hand out to him. “Come on.”

 

“To where?”

 

“I made you another promise, Jaime,” she smiles. “I promised to show you my swords.”

 

He only looks disappointed for a second before his face lights up. “Yes,” he says, allowing her to pull him up, more or less easily. “Sharp objects!”

 

Brienne shakes her head, trying not to laugh too obviously, and says, “No running in the house, young man.”

 

“Ha. You know I’m twelve years older than you, right?”

 

“But terribly immature.”

 

“I am so mature,” he protests, following her down a hall and further into her apartment.

 

The swords are in a locked room inside a locked case. As she unlocks the door and steps inside, she explains, “I have a Stark sword, so Ned insisted that I have it all locked up. He thinks the city is full of thieves. He always says, ‘forget an arm and a leg, they’ll take your whole damn head if they can get it off your neck’.”

 

Jaime snorts and mumbles something about self-righteousness which she chooses to ignore. Everyone knows there’s bad blood between the Starks and the Lannisters.

 

Unfortunately, she seems to have forgotten that the first thing you see when you walk in is a giant poster of Sansa in a forest, cradling a bottle of perfume with an angelic expression. Next to that is a painting that Bran Stark gave her, and of course, a Stark sword in the case, all lit up like a work of art. 

 

There’s a Stark sword, a Tyrell sword, a Tarth sword, a Tarth shield, and a full-size coat of armor. Jaime stands in silent awe for awhile before he asks if he can hold them. She takes her key and unlocks the drawer of the case to get yet another key to actually open it. Then they spend far too much time talking about swords and trebuchets and sieges. If she had ever bothered to imagine the perfect man, surely this would be a requirement. 

 

Jaime eventually moves on to the rest of the room and notices the turntables and boxes of records in the corner. Most of them are her brothers.  _ Were _ her brothers, before he died. She has some of her own, but vinyl was her brother’s thing and the first five seconds of any of those records can take her back to his childhood bedroom, listening to his favorite music and hoping he   wouldn’t get a phone call from a girl and kick her out. 

 

There are also a handful of metal records from Sandor, which is fitting since they met at his record store. They met, in fact, because she was looking for a record that her brother used to play that wasn’t in his collection. The tall, dark, and mysterious shop owner had it, which turned out to be miraculous since it was apparently a rare b-side. 

 

She was still miserable at KLU and she had somehow decided that day that it would cheer her up to look for it, but she had been to three record stores and it was March and she was cold and miserable and she suddenly blurted out the whole story about her brother and how much the record meant to her and had gotten increasingly emotional until he had huffed and put an arm around her, awkwardly patting her shoulder. She was embarrassed but she felt so  _ alone  _ there, all the time, that she couldn’t hold back.

 

He was gruff but he was nice enough, nicer than one would probably expect from looking at him, especially since the fall of black hair over one side of his face hid serious burn scars. It was hard not to look either at them or away from them, but she had trained herself to look people straight in the eye without hesitation, which he seemed to appreciate. 

 

He asked her if she wanted a drink and they had sat in the back of the store, sipping rum until she felt calm. She went back to the store a few times with the tiniest hope that he might ask her out, but he had told her quickly enough that she was too young for him. She knew he was telling the truth because she had already learned that he hated liars.

 

Still, she went back, all spring and all summer, until she left KLU and moved across town. When they met again, she was twenty-one and no longer too young.

 

There are a few jazz records from Tormund as well and the sound of most of them makes her feel hungover. Thankfully, Jaime passes over the records without much comment and moves on to the rack of custom dresses and the dozen or so framed magazine covers hung on the wall.

 

“Is this your secret treasure room?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” she answers honestly.

 

“Well, I’m honored to be here.” He comes closer with a darkening look and presses her slowly but surely against the wall and kisses her, deep and full of promise, until he suddenly pulls back and says, “I can’t do this with the Stark girl staring at me with her perfume bottle.”

 

“She’s looking  _ at _ the perfume bottle, Jaime.”

 

“Her eyes are following me,” he whispers.

 

Shaking with laughter, she leads him back into the hallway and locks the door behind her. She has no sooner turned the key before he grasps her hips and spins her around to press her against it. He kisses her relatively chastely--relatively--for a moment until he pushes her harder against the door and tangles their legs together. She feels him again, hard against her hip, and it’s impossible not to move into the touch, biting her lip. 

 

“Fuck,” he says, watching her. “Do that again.” She bites her lip and Jaime groans, hauling her closer by the grip he still has on her hips.

 

But Brienne gathers what wits she still has about her and gently pushes him away. “This isn’t a second date, you know,” she says, her voice coming out low and rough.

 

Jaime sighs and runs his hands down her arms until he can capture her fingers. “If only all not-second dates could be so nice.” He squeezes her hand and her face burns, but she squeezes back, once, quickly.

 

“Okay,” she says, dropping his hand. “Off with you before you make more trouble.”

 

“Am I too persuasive?” he asks with a grin.

 

“By half,” she mutters under her breath. 

 

At the door, he turns to her and says, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

 

Brienne smiles.  _ Is that how you smiled at Jaime?  _ “Okay.”

 

“Okay? So you’re  _ not _ busy now?”

 

“I’ll cancel something.”

“Ahh, you sure that won’t niggle at your conscience too much, noble wench?”

 

She rolls her eyes and then punches his shoulder for good measure. She’ll train him out of that nickname yet. “I’ll learn to live with myself.”


	5. Plied and Pried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting twice, it posted halfway down the page, not sure why, I give up! Thanks to the commenter who got in before I took it down, and guess what? I added over a thousand words! Please enjoy my humble attempts and forgive me, for I literally know not what I do.

 

 

Plied and Pried

 

 

 

On past dates, Jaime had always booked the most expensive restaurant in town. He admittedly never wondered if that would bother the dates themselves to know--after a few times, the dates began to feel like such a tired routine that it seemed fitting that it all look the same as well as having the same tedious orders, the same subtle or not-at-all subtle mentions of their love for designer clothes and how he could afford them. They always seemed as if the most expensive restaurant in town was the only place they’d accept.

 

But he has a feeling Brienne won’t have much interest in going to the hottest place in town, or would refuse to let him coerce the waiter into giving them a table, or would insist on paying the bill or something equally ridiculous. He wonders if she’ll wear lipstick. She hasn’t worn it before and he finds himself imagining what color she might choose and whether she’ll finally unleash the full, naked power of her legs in an outrageously short skirt until Tyrion gets annoyed at his silence and says, “What are you so damn dreamy about this morning?”

 

“I’m having dinner with Brienne tonight.” He frowns. “But I don’t know where to take her.”

 

“Not the Red Keep?” Tyrion asks, surprised.

 

“I don’t think she’d like that.”

 

“Oh, yes, I suppose she’s very rich, so expensive things don’t impress her very easily. Well, good luck with that, you’ll have to rely on your paltry charms.” He endures a pelting of croissant pieces from Jaime. “Just let her pick. Unless she likes Dornish food. Never eat Dornish food on a date.”

 

“I’ve never texted her before…”

 

“Jaime, you sound Tommen fretting about a school girlfriend. I’m getting embarrassed for you.”

 

“Okay, fine, is now an acceptable time? I’ll just say….hello, it’s Jaime, do you want to pick the place tonight?”

 

“Sounds perfectly sane.”

 

He picks up his phone and it goes off in his hand. He shouts and drops it and immediately has to tell Tyrion to stop laughing at him. He has a message...from Brienne.

 

_Brienne: Do you still want to have dinner tonight?_

_Jaime: do ducks fly_

_Brienne: Where?_

_Jaime: u pic_

_Brienne: You’re giving me a headache…_

_Jaime: u PIC, get it?_

_Brienne: ………………………_

 

“I’m not sure how sane this is sounding,” Jaime admits.

 

_Brienne: Do you like mead?_

_Jaime: again……..do ducks fly_

_Brienne: There are three species that can’t fly, actually._

_Jaime: fine, do u like swords?_

_Brienne: We’ll go to Maegor’s. Did you learn to text from Myrcella by any chance?........._

_Jaime: YES do i seem old now_

_Brienne: I’m just worried for the next generation. 8 PM?_

_Jaime: bells on_

 

“Wherever we’re going, it’s got mead.”

 

“ _Mead_? Gods, I think you’ve met the girl of your dreams.”

 

“You said it, not me,” Jaime replies cheerfully. “Did I tell you she showed me her _swords?”_

 

“It sounds like a euphemism, yet I know it’s sadly not.”

 

“She has a suit of armor as well and it--” Jaime proceeds to expound on all the details of her armor while Tyrion’s eyes begin to roll back in his head from boredom. “Anyway,” he says eventually. “She had a few other things in there. A giant creepy poster of the Stark girl. It’s her _treasure room_.”

 

“Again, sounds like a euphemism, yet not.”

 

She had also had a few boxes of records that she had eyed warily every time he looked at them. He was burning with curiosity, but she didn't want him to ask, however much she tried not to let it show. For once, he decided not to push his luck. Perhaps they're an ex-lover's. Or perhaps she just has bad taste in music. He's confident that he'll find out soon enough.

 

Jaime’s in an absurdly good mood all day, to the point that he hears people whispering in the office and trying to figure out why.

 

\---

 

She wears lipstick, and yes, a black dress with a draped neckline and a silver overlay that ends in flowing pieces around her knees. It looks utterly appropriate for drinking mead.

 

She fairly stomps in, looking extraordinarily tall, even for her. “Margaery chose this dress, so if I look stupid, it’s her fault,” she says quickly. He stands up to greet her and discovers that he has to look further up than ever. “It was also her idea to wear heels, so I’m 6’6” tonight,” she sighs.

 

“You look great.” She opens her mouth and he quickly cuts in, “And don’t tell me I don’t have to be polite.”

 

They drink enough mead that she actually _giggles_ , covering her mouth self-consciously but with her eyes still sparkling. Between the drink and his teasing comments, she’s a nice shade of raspberry most of the night.

 

They talk about their day--he spent it thinking about her, which she protests can’t be true, but can’t give a reason why, it just _can't._ Brienne spent it on Skype trying to convince Olenna Tyrell that shipping a hundred roses from Highgarden wasn’t necessary because they would just fall off the hat and die anyway.

 

"She said it was false advertising if they weren't real Highgarden roses. I told her, Olenna, this eyeshadow doesn't actually transport you into a meadow full of roses, so what does it matter if the roses are fake? It's all false advertising. It's _advertising_."

 

"My my, wench, you almost sound like a cynic."

 

"Hey, I know that I'm making ads and commercials for companies so they can make money, but that doesn't mean we have to be silly about it." Which seems like such a Brienne thing to say, even in his limited experience, that he has to laugh.

 

"I thought a Highgarden rose never fades."

 

"Only if a Highgarden rose buys Highgarden Rose Replenishing Rose Oil Night Serum! Anyway, she finally agreed, but I still wouldn't be surprised to get to set and find thirty crates of half-dead flowers."

 

Then she watched several young men parade around in their underwear, allegedly as part of her job.

 

Jaime clasps his hands to his chest and says in semi-mock-anxiety, "Were they more handsome than me?" She refuses to answer! "I feel like I need to strip so you can compare real quick."

 

"Jaime, they were babies! And it was for Marc Jacobs, so they were all very angular. They're completely different looks."

 

"Fine," he pouts. "But I'm going to keep my eyes on these young men."

 

She eventually mentions that there’s an exhibit on weaponry during the 1600s opening at one of the museums in a few weeks.

 

“Why, darling, have you just suggested a _third_ date?” he asks, licking his lips.

 

She blushes and primly says, “You said yourself you never make it to a third date.”

 

“Because I get _bored._ I’m not bored.”

 

She smiles almost coyly and says, “But I told you I was boring.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Not.”

 

“Am,” she giggles. She covers her mouth and pushes her mug of mead to the side. “You have plied me with drink again, ser,” she says with great dignity.

 

“Absolutely, but you’re the one that recommended the mead. Mayhaps you’re plying me.”

 

“Can two people ply each other?”

 

“Sounds like a win-win.”

 

At the end of the night, he’s sorely tempted to ask to come in--and he thinks she might say yes--but he decides the gentlemanly thing to do is say goodbye at the door with a chaste kiss...but that doesn’t really happen. It’s more like an inappropriately heated kiss in the hallway.

 

Ultimately, she breaks away and suggests that he come in before one of her neighbors sees them. She doesn’t even get a chance to turn on the lights before he presses her against _that_ side of the door until it creaks under their weight. She wraps her arms around him and he gives in to the temptation to finally see what the milk-pale and freckled skin feels like under his hands, pulling one of her warm, firm legs up around his hip. She allows it with a hard breath, but she catches his hand at the top of her thigh and holds it there for a few long and slow kisses.

 

“This dress is too long,” he says, kissing her collarbone, which is perfectly level with his lips thanks to her heels. He slips his hand to the back of her knee, which makes her jump and make a warm sound in her throat. “Tell Margaery not to be so modest next time.”

 

She bumps him with her knee to let go and laughs, “Please, I’ve only just reined her in.” She leans over and turns on the small lamp next to the door. Her eyes glint in the warm and weak light just like the gems they so resemble. She kicks her shoes off.

 

"How high can you get your leg up anyway?" he asks.

 

Smugly, she says, "I can put my feet behind my head."

 

Jaime squeezes her hips with a groan. "Promises, promises, wench."

 

She kisses him and says, "Stop calling me that. Mead or no mead. It's infuriating."

 

"Do you always smile like that when you're infuriated? It's very confusing."

 

"I'm not smiling!"

 

"You are."

 

"Am not," she pouts.

 

"No," he agrees, leaning in to kiss her neck. "Now you're pouting and making me want to drag you into your bedroom," he continues. "I just don't know where it is. _Yet_."

 

"You're a very arrogant man," she huffs, although she tilts her head back to give him more access.

 

When they pull apart again, Jaime finds himself blurting out, “I really like you, Brienne."

 

Softly, she says, “I like you too.”

 

“...But?”

 

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “No but. I’ll let you know if I develop a but.” She giggles, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

 

Jaime catches it and pulls it down. “You have a cute smile and you always hide it.”

 

She raises a pale brow and says, “Really? Don’t you think my teeth are a little…”

 

He squeezes her hand. “Horsey? Sure, but I like horses, remember?” 

 

She snorts and mumbles, “You’re crazy.”

 

“Crazy about--”

 

“If you say _crazy about you_ , Jaime, I might strangle you.”

 

“Ah, your secret fetish.”

 

She makes a face, wrinkling her crooked nose, and pushes his shoulder. “Depends how much you annoy me!”

 

He finds himself whistling like an idiot on his way down in the elevator. His cheerful mood lasts as long as it takes him to check his phone, where he finds a half dozen texts from Cersei. Some of them beg him to come over and comfort her while some damn him for not already being there and yet more daring him to come over and fuck her. It’s almost 11 PM. He hopes Myrcella and Tommen are asleep if she’s as drunk as he thinks she is. Even here, at Brienne’s doorstep, he knows he will go to her.

 

When did he start dreading their every meeting?

 

Jaime finds Tommen and Myrcella still awake, watching a scary movie that looks entirely too adult.

 

“You two should be in bed.”

 

“Mom said we didn’t have to go to school tomorrow,” Myrcella replies. “I think she wants to spend time with us or something. I don’t know. She was drunk,” she shrugs.

 

“Myrcella!” Jaime says, glancing at Tommen. Tommen is thirteen now, and would have to be truly simple not to notice the increasing tension in their luxury penthouse, but it’s still not something he cares to highlight.

 

Myrcella turns back to the screen and says, “Mom said we don’t have to go to school tomorrow, so we can stay up until midnight, that’s that.”

 

Tommen says, “You can watch it with us if you want, Uncle Jaime.”

 

“He’s not here to see _us_ , Tommen,” Myrcella says, rolling her eyes.

 

Her words echo in his ears as he climbs the stairs to the master bedroom. Cersei’s daughter is inheriting her mother’s sharp edges--and turning them against _him_.

 

Cersei is on the balcony, drinking a glass of wine, but she quickly comes in and slams the door closed when she sees him come in. Without preamble, she walks over and slaps him, crying, “Jaime, where have you been?”

 

Jaime takes a breath and resists reaching up to rub his cheek. “I wasn’t checking my phone. What’s the matter?”

 

“Oh, Jaime,” she sighs, throwing her arms around him. She smells like cabernet. “I just _needed_ you.” He gingerly embraces her and waits for the catch. She lays her head on his chest and hums. But after a lull, she sighs again and says, “Stannis is threatening to have me audited or something stupid like that to get more of my money.”

 

“Ah...and you expect me to?...”

 

Cersei huffs and says, “Can’t you look into his accounts or something and look for something suspicious so he’ll back off?”

 

“You want me to use my position at work to sabotage your brother-in-law?”

 

“ _Ex_ brother-in-law. Robert’s dead, remember?” she says, in a low, silky voice not befitting a widow talking about her dead husband. She slides her hands down to his waist and toys with the edge of his shirt. “I can’t imagine it’s that hard,” she continues, with impatience creeping into her voice. “And it’s not like Father will fire you if he finds out. In fact, maybe you can convince _him_ to do it. Stannis isn’t afraid of _me_ , but he’d be an idiot to cross Father.” All the while, she’s briskly undressing him with all the tenderness of a Gold Cloak doing a pat-down.

 

“Cersei,” he says, catching her hands before she can finish with his belt. “Do you really think Father is going to go after Stannis just because _I_ suggest it? You have far too much faith in me, sister.”

 

Cersei sighs, fisting her hands in the front of his shirt. “You used to be brave, Jaime. What’s the matter with you?”

 

“You mean I used to be _reckless?_ You mean I used to be _naive_ and _blind_ and--”

 

“Oh, honestly, is this about Osmund again? How many times will you make me grovel on my knees, Jaime?” She asks, though she has done no such thing. “If I had imagined you were actually being _faithful_ \--”

 

“How could you think I would be anything less? We are supposed to be two halves of the same soul,” Jaime says bitterly. “What could any other woman offer me?”

 

She gives him a smile that’s ripe with condescension and says, “You’re very sweet, brother. Always so sweet.” She reaches between them and cups her palm against him. “Let me show you how sorry I am and then we can forget it, yes?” She moves her hand slowly and traces his lips with her tongue for a few moments before she seems to abruptly realize that Jaime’s not responding at all. “What is wrong with you?” Cersei hisses. “Have you always been such a fool and I just never saw it?”

 

Jaime takes a breath and pushes her away, holding her at arm’s length. “I think there were many things that went unseen between us.”

 

Cersei scoffs and finds her abandoned glass of wine. “You sound like our idiot brother. Hey!” she cries as Jaime crosses the room and she’s forced to stumble a bit to catch up with him. “I didn’t tell you to go!” Perhaps this is truly the first time he’s walked away from her.

 

“And yet, I’m going,” he replies. She follows him to the elevator, glaring in stunned silence until he steps inside.

 

As the doors slide closed, she says, “Don’t think this is over, Jaime.”

 

He doesn’t even make it home before she decides she has something else to say. She calls and accuses, “There’s someone else, isn’t there? Tell me who it is!! Tell me right now!”

 

“Cersei, I don’t--”

 

“You think I can’t find out, Jaime? It will be easier if you just tell me.” Which seems like an oddly sinister thing to say. He doesn’t have any intention of pushing Brienne into Cersei’s path any more than she already is, whether she says she can handle it or not.

 

“Cersei, you sound insane.”

 

“Do _not_ call me that, Jaime.”

 

“I have to go.”

 

“Don’t you dare hang up on--”

 

It’s past midnight when he gets home. He has a few texts from Brienne, one simply saying that she had fun and one with a link to the museum page for the sword exhibit. Jaime counts that as a definitive win.

 

But he worries for the first time if it’s not better to keep her away from his sister. As no woman has ever made it to a third date, Cersei has never bothered paying much attention to them, probably assuming that they were Jaime’s attempts to look like he wasn’t desperately pining for her. And that had been true for a long time. But it just no longer is--and that makes things all the more dangerous.

 

And...he’s never had to stop and seriously wonder how he will explain his terrible love for his sister. Brienne hates liars. How many will she forgive him for? Isn't each day he doesn’t tell her another lie? If Jaime was a less selfish man, he wouldn’t pull her into the sorry tangle that his life has become.

 

He knows it’s foolish, but he decides to put the question aside--just for the moment. He has odd dreams about death by swords, red silks and blue wool.

 

\---

 

If Cersei says anything to Brienne, Brienne doesn’t mention it to him. She asks once, hesitantly, if he has told his sister anything about _them_ and she seems relieved when he cautiously replies that he hasn’t brought it up.

 

“Why?” Jaime had asked faintly. “Hiding me?”

 

Brienne snorted and said, “I may be able to deal with your sister, but that doesn’t mean I’m a masochist, Jaime.”

 

So he balances between seeing Brienne and avoiding his sister, trusting Tyrion to make sure the kids aren’t missing too much school, although the gods only know that helping Cersei is a thankless task, especially for his brother.

 

After their mead-soaked dinner, he no longer has to work to convince her to go out with him. They even try working out together, although she makes him turn around while she does squats, claiming that he makes it feel dirty, which makes him laugh until she turns red and punches him in the shoulder. She hits hard.

 

In fact, she makes him chase her all over the gym, complaining that there’s no way she looks good while working out. She does get red and sweaty and her hair sticks to her face and she makes some ridiculous expressions. “You look like everyone when they work out,” he replies dryly.

 

She also refuses to prove her claim that she can put her feet behind her head, flaming red. Then she makes him turn away for half their stretches afterwards.

 

“Ah, you’re killing me wench, but I suppose it’s better not to have a hard-on in public.”

 

Brienne groans and rolls away from him on the mat, calling him insufferable.

 

“Yet still you’re smiling. Could this be a medical condition, darling?”

 

“Ugh! Darling is better than wench, but I draw the line firmly at two--ugh-- _pet names_. And it would be one pet name if I wasn’t certain you’d choose the horrible one.”

 

“It’s historical!” She lets out a single laugh that sounds slightly sarcastic. He rolls over to her and murmurs, “So what’s _my_ pet name?”

 

“Pest.”

 

“It doesn’t have the same flow as sweet buns.”

 

“I am _never_ calling you _sweet buns_. I can’t even say it with a straight face.”

 

“Then I get it. My second choice. Wench and sweet buns.”

 

“You’re terrible.” She’s run out of mat to roll away to, and she doesn’t get up, and she’s still smiling.

 

Afterwards, they go to her apartment and she makes him a breakfast of scrambled eggs and tiny smoked fish from Tarth, no bigger than his pinkie. She stands at the stove in well-fitted black pants and a black sweater with an apron that says ‘DO NOT KISS THE COOK’. She’s put make-up on since her post-gym shower, not much, but a little, and he wants to tell her she doesn’t have to because he wants to see her naked, all of her.

 

She tells him about fishing on Tarth while he stares at her ass. Sadly, the pants can’t compete with the leggings she was just in, although these do emphasize the long and strong lines of her legs.

 

“These are salty,” he comments later.

 

She gives him a confused look and says, “Yes, because of the salt deposits. Jaime, were you listening to me at all?”

 

“Somewhat. Those pants look really good.”

 

All red, she ignores his comment and says, “As I already explained, the fish are so abundant by these certain spots on the coast because there are salt deposits there, so they tend to be very salty. They called them brinefish. This,” she says, gesturing to the eggs and fish. “Is called eebies on the island, because it’s eggs and brine fish and because we love abbreviating things. Traditional Tarth breakfast is eebies, roasted pineapple with chilis, and vine tea.”

 

“What the hell is vine tea?”

 

“It’s a whole other story. I’d tell it but I wouldn’t want to _bore_ you,” she grumbles, stabbing a poor tiny fish.

 

“I didn’t say I was bored, I said I was looking at your ass. There’s a massive difference.”

 

Then there’s several increasingly heated kisses up against her kitchen counter. He has learned the minimal curve at her hip, the swells at the top of her ass, the sweet, soft and sensitive flesh of her breasts. She usually tries to comment or even apologize for their small size, which always makes Jaime feel compelled to show his appreciation. He has seen her blushing and smiling uncertainly, frowning in concentration, and breathless and moaning, but he hasn’t seen her come.

 

But it feels right to take it slow. Because frankly, if they went much faster, he’d feel a little overwhelmed. He has only ever loved one woman, and he is coming to realize that he didn’t really expect to ever love another. Even after he painstakingly pulled away from Cersei, he still felt his heart  was forfeit.

 

But he couldn’t have found a woman less like his sister than Brienne.

 

Before he leaves, he says, “I’m having lunch with my brother tomorrow. Will you join us? I’d like for you two to meet.”

 

He sees a subtle and quick flash of panic in her eyes before she nods and says, “Okay.” She looks at her phone for a few moments and says, “But it has to be between 11:15 and 12:45.”

 

“As my lady commands. How’s that? _My lady_?”

 

“I’m revoking your pet name privilege, pest.”

 

“Ahh, I think I like it when you’re _stern_ with me.”

 

“Jaime! You’re awful,” she says with a sigh. “Let me know when and where tomorrow. Do I need to dress up or something?” she asks, making a face.

 

“Gods, no. Just show up in all your Brienne glory.” She punches his shoulder and tells him to shut up, but still gives him a final kiss goodbye, right outside of her building. The woman he lo--the woman he likes is kissing him in public. He’s as pleased as he is aware that he’s pathetic.

 

\---

 

The next day, he sits on the patio of a cafe in the bohemian area of town, close to where Brienne is shooting something, so she can get there faster. Tyrion had grumbled about the sudden time change, but he admitted to being rather excited to meet the woman who has turned his brother into ‘a starry-eyed idiot’.

 

“Will she look all strange and model-like?”

 

“I don’t know what that means and I have no idea. Sometimes I feel like she looks slightly different every time I see her. It’s very interesting.”

 

“Gods, I need a drink if you’re going to be espousing this stuff the whole time.”

 

“Absolutely not! I don’t trust you intoxicated not to scare her away. Or make her punch you.”

 

“She’s an honorable woman, she would never punch a dwarf. Especially if she hasn’t punched _you_ yet.”

 

They are innocently drinking and chatting until Jaime hears the most chilling noise possible.

 

Cersei.

 

“Dear brothers,” she says, helping herself to a seat. “What a lovely coincidence that we’re all here. We _must_ lunch together.” Before either brother can speak, she’s flagged the waiter and ordered a vodka and orange juice.

 

Jaime pressed his lips together, trying to stay calm. “We’ll need another chair,” he says, getting up to find another seat for the table.

 

“Oh? Are you expecting someone else?”

 

“Jaime’s lovely friend Brienne is joining us,” Tyrion replies. “Yet I somehow feel like you already knew that.”

 

Cersei flags down the waiter again and says, “We’ll have a friend joining us and I’m certain she’ll want the cobb salad with extra extra avocado. Yum!”

 

Jaime is frantically trying to figure out if he can covertly text Brienne and warn her away, but he quickly realizes that it’s too late.

 

Because she is standing in the entrance to the patio with a horrified look.

 

Cersei smiles coldly and murmurs, “There she is now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dress inspired by Vivienne Westwood designs. Also, everything about Tarth is completely made up.


	6. Crashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm afraid she rather crashed our lunch."

  
  
  
  
  
  
Crashing  
  
  


 

Brienne pauses at the entrance to the courtyard and emotions flash across her face in a quick flow, from horror to dread to resignation to the sort of placid and impassive smile that he can imagine does indeed drive his sister to madness.

 

Cersei's face, on the other hand, lights up with a wicked look of anticipation that makes him nervous. Brienne had claimed that she was skilled enough at handling his sweet sister, but Cersei had never had so much ammunition, nor so much motivation to be cruel. If she could make all three of them miserable at once, it would probably be her greatest joy. He wonders again how he had never seen these things.

 

Brienne is dressed in dark, tight jeans. Her top has a polkadot pattern so fine that it looks almost like metal in the sunlight, like she’s wearing chain mail. It has incongruous frills at the throat that make her neck look especially long. It’s not blue, sadly, but her eyes are still as blue as the clear sky above them. On top of it all is what looks like a man’s trench coat and on her feet, a pair of black boots that are covered in metal spikes.

 

She waves stiffly, falters for a second, then strides forward towards their table with her back straight.

 

Before their sister can speak, Tyrion rises on his seat and holds a hand out, saying, “So you’re the infamous Brienne.”

 

She reaches across the table with ease to meet Tyrion's much shorter arm, which seems to amuse him. “I've been called many things, but infamous has never been one.”

 

“Indeed,” Tyrion admits. “I fear we Lannisters are a good deal more infamous than you could hope to be. All the better!”

 

Brienne gives him a vacantly polite smile. She is hauling her walls up to him already, to Jaime's frustration. But how can anyone withstand the three of them? He simply thanks the gods that his father isn't here somehow, then looks around in sudden concern that he's lurking around the corner.

 

She turns her eyes to Jaime and he's almost taken aback again at how very absurdly blue they are. Her walls slip for an instant and she gives him the smallest but sweetest of smiles and simply says his name in her low, ringing voice.

 

Then she turns to Cersei with an agreeable smile and says, “Cersei, it's such an incredibly and totally unexpected pleasure to see you. I didn't know you were joining us.”

 

“I’m afraid she rather crashed our lunch,” Tyrion says. He turns to Jaime and says, “Can I get that drink now, or…?”

 

Cersei gives Brienne a cloying smile and takes the younger woman’s big hand in her small one and pats it. “Well, I haven’t seen you in so long, sweet girl, that when Tyrion said they were meeting you, I decided I simply must stay.” She shoots Tyrion a cutting look. “You need a manicure,” she adds.

 

The waitress brings Brienne's salad almost before she has a chance to sit down. The entire surface is covered in avocado. Brienne gives it a bemused look and turns to the waitress, saying, “Forgive me, but my friend seems to have forgotten that I'm allergic to avocados. I'm afraid I'll have to order something else, if you'll give me a moment.”

 

“Might as well save yourself some time and just ask for the greenest thing on the menu,” Jaime says. Brienne gives him a withering look and orders a salad. He turns to Tyrion and says, “When we first had lunch, she told me I should have the spaghetti fresca and when it came out, it was all green and slimy.”

 

Brienne rolls her eyes and says, “You’re fabulously wealthy, don’t tell me you’ve never had pesto, or you’re one of those ‘I only eat meat and potatoes and corn’ people.”

 

“Hey, I’m a very adventurous eater! The other day, she made me scrambled eggs with some weird fish and then tried to make me drink something called vine tea, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

 

“I absolutely did not try to make you drink it, and it’s not even really tea, it’s just the water from the vines in the jungle.”

 

Tyrion says, “They drink a bit every day on Tarth. It’s incredible for hangovers. It  actually has a fascinating origin story, a man called Ser Hemmory Lorn--”

 

“Brother, please!” Cersei cries. The waitress has dropped off her vodka and orange juice. “This is lunch, not a history lesson.”

 

“Well,” Tyrion huffs. “Suffice it to say, he’s a big hero on the island. Tarth is a very interesting place. Mayhaps you’ll give me a tour someday, Brienne. I must say, I'm glad I managed to meet you before my sister managed to kill you.”

 

“Oh, with avocados? I wouldn't quite die,” Brienne dismisses. “Thankfully, those were easy to notice. I accidentally ate some guacamole once. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

 

“Not many are with you, dear,” Cersei says.

 

Jaime flinches. Tyrion frowns. Brienne smiles and says, “No, I'm afraid not.”

 

And, true to the brave and foolish woman’s claims, his sister looks greatly annoyed by her easy deflection. The only sign that she's so cruelly insulted Brienne is the blush that slowly forms on her cheeks.

 

“Well,” Cersei continues briskly. “It's best you didn't simply stuff your face as you do. You have a meeting with Renly tomorrow to discuss the fall campaign and you know how particular Renly is about his girls.”

 

“I’m shooting the campaign, not starring in it, and I’ve known Renly for seven years, I believe he knows what I look like.”

 

“He can Google you if he’s forgotten, but he might not recognize you without your Calvins.” Brienne gives him her _I’m pretending to be annoyed but really I adore you_ smile, as he likes to think of it.

 

“I want you to cast Ramsay Bolton this time.” Cersei declares. “He's hot right now.”

 

Brienne is shaking her head as soon as she hears the name. “Cast him if you like, but I'll have to excuse myself from the--”

 

“ _Ugh_ , tell me you're not still insisting that you won't work with him.” She starts on her fresh drink and says, “You have a pig's head to go with that pig's nose.”

 

Tyrion snorts into his drink, ironically. Jaime flinches. Brienne shrugs and says, “I made a vow that I would never work with Ramsay Bolton again.”

 

“Do you know how lucrative this campaign could be, you idiot girl?” Cersei demands, her voice getting slightly shrill.

 

The tension is cut when the waitress brings their food, but only until Tyrion says, “So, who exactly is Ramsay Bolton and what did he do?” Jaime cringes, sensing that this will not go well.

 

“He’s a male model who _allegedly_ \--”

 

“It’s not _alleged_ , there was _videotape_ proof,” Brienne says, gripping her knife very tightly and keeping her eyes on her plate.

 

“Well, in any case, he wasn’t very easy for the Stark girl to work with--”

 

“He sexually assaulted her,” Brienne says flatly, looking at his sister now without a smile. Cersei has discovered Brienne’s weakness--her loved ones. Of course it would be.

 

“Oh, oops…” Tyrion mumbles under his breath.

 

“Well, it’s not like I told you to put Sansa Stark in it with him!”

 

“I’m not doing it,” Brienne says calmly, turning back to her plate. “I'm sure it will make you just as much money without me. I'm really nothing special,” Brienne says, and Jaime gets the feeling she’s repeating Cersei’s own words back to her.

 

“ _No_ ,” Cersei says, gritting her perfect white teeth. “But you know perfectly well that Renly wants _you_ to shoot it.”

 

“Perhaps you can convince him otherwise,” Brienne shrugs.

 

“You're the absolute biggest nuisance in my life,” Cersei grumbles.

 

“Really? Isn't Joffrey on his second arrest of the year already?”

 

“Do _not_ speak about my son.” Cersei snaps.

 

“He’s such a handsome boy,” Brienne says. Her tone is mild but she somehow makes it sound like the most damning trait imaginable. “And Myrcella, she’s so lovely.” She brightens and turns to Cersei, saying, “Mayhaps you should cast her with Ramsay? I imagine a better director could keep him in line, don’t you think?” A chill goes through him at the thought of Myrcella so much as being in the same room as the boy.

 

Cersei goes pale at the suggestion and looks at Brienne as if she hopes she bursts into flames on the spot. They lock eyes for what seems like an eternity, so long that both he and Tyrion are squirming from the tension. Brienne, on the other hand, looks utterly unruffled.

 

“Myrcella is too young for this campaign,” Cersei says with finality. “You're a fool if you don't cast Ramsay, and--”

 

“Then I'm a fool,” Brienne says calmly. She gives another inane smile. “I'm simply bursting with flaws, am I not?” she laughs and turns away and asks Tyrion what he does at the company, all but _dismissing_ his sister. Jaime would never have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

 

Cersei fumes silently next to Brienne while she chats with Tyrion, alternating between sneering at the pair and glaring around Brienne at Jaime whenever possible. By the time the waitress arrives with their food--though Cersei has ordered naught but cocktails--she has gained a calculating look.

 

“Brienne, I must apologize.”

 

Raising a brow, Brienne says, “Whatever do you mean, Cersei? Whatever it is, consider it already forgotten.”

 

Cersei grits her teeth and says, “No, no,” in a sweet voice. “I know the Stark girl is like a sister to you. You’re very close to the whole family, are you not?” She takes a drink while Brienne sits very still, seeming to anticipate something, but still with a polite half-smile. “It makes sense, really, since yours is all dead.” She doesn’t attempt to sound sympathetic, instead injecting a sort of glee into the last word. She closes her lips around her straw and peers closely at Brienne. Jaime then remembers Brienne’s words: _Only my father lives on Tarth._

 

Brienne is so still and so blank that she could be meditating. Her eyes settle on Cersei, not a glare, but a seemingly neutral look that is nonetheless piercing. The senseless smile has dropped from her lips. It’s actually quite eerie, how flat and hollow her eyes become, so unlike their usual depth, as if she’s in another place.

 

When she still hasn’t replied, Cersei continues, “You _did_ have a sister, once, am I correct? And some others, as well?” She tuts and sips her drink. “Such tragedies,” she says, with a poorly disguised smirk. But Cersei soon grows impatient again, shifting in her seat and clenching her glass as they continue to look at each other, while Brienne is silent still.

 

Tyrion starts sending him frantic looks. It feels as if the two women may leap across the table and start strangling each other at any moment, for however bizarrely calm Brienne is managing to appear, the cold fury growing in her is somehow still evident.  

 

“A mother, too?” Cersei adds after another interminable silence.

 

“Sister, don’t you think--” Tyrion begins.

 

“That’s true, Cersei,” Brienne says suddenly. “First my sisters...two of them, twins...and my mother, within a few days.” Her voice is low and slow and steady. “And my older brother some time later. My father is my only living family. What of it?”

 

Cersei seems surprised by the question. She finally breaks eye contact and says, “Well, I--I was simply trying to be understanding.” Tyrion somehow manages to laugh hysterically under his breath. “Such tragedies,” she says again.

 

It seems for a moment that Brienne might stay as this marble statue with her blank eyes and then she smiles a silly, vacuous smile and pats his sister’s hand. “You’re so thoughtful, Cersei.”    

 

Cersei isn’t satisfied with false courtesies. Jaime isn’t sure what it is that his sister _does_ want. For him to laugh at Brienne with her? For Brienne to cry and run away? She acts like a jealous lover, but Jaime knows beyond doubt that if he were to ask her to meet him for a fuck--or _lovemaking_ \--that she would give that long-suffering sigh she did and tell him not to be ridiculous. She wants him close but only so close. He takes Brienne’s hand under the table, out of sight.

 

“Ah, and it’s so terrible that your father even had to sell your childhood home just to send you to KLU! What were you studying again, before you quit?”

 

But Brienne has regained herself, so she simply laughs and says, “Oh, my childhood home is still there. We’d never sell the castle. For one thing, all the locals are convinced it’s haunted, they’d scare all the buyers away.” She looks to Tyrion again and says, “You should definitely go on the ghost tour if you’re ever on Tarth again.” Does she know that favoring Tyrion over Cersei is the most dangerous move in the world?

 

“Oh, I _definitely_ hope to visit again,” Tyrion says, clearly taken with the woman who is pissing his sister off so badly.

 

Brienne looks to Jaime with her big blue eyes and says, “Any ghosts at the Rock, Jaime?”

 

Maybe it’s her use of his name that drives Cersei over the edge. Does it sound as sensual and sweet to her as it always does to Jaime?

 

Cersei scrapes her seat back loudly and says, “This is making me nauseous.”

 

Brienne frowns and says, “You know you shouldn’t drink before noon, it always upsets your stomach.”

 

Cersei makes a noise of pure outrage, picks up her purse, and storms away, while Tyrion calls, “Yes, sister, I’d be happy to get your drinks.”

 

As soon as she’s out of sight, Brienne gives them both a polite smile and gets up from the table, saying, “Please excuse me for a moment.” Jaime attempts to catch her hand as she walks past, but she leaves too quickly.

 

Tyrion groans and sits back in his seat, motioning for a drink. “That was terrifying, Jaime, truly terrifying. Yet also the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Did you see Cersei’s _face_ when she said she was trying to be _understanding_ ? As if she’s capable of _empathy_? I mean, bringing up all her dead relatives...honestly, the way Brienne looked at her was quite creepy. Are you entirely certain she doesn’t have psychic abilities? She certainly does have beautiful eyes. Shouldn’t you go after her?”

 

“I think it’s better if I give her space,” Jaime sighs.

 

“Why, brother, that sounded remarkably mature and rational. You may pull this off yet!”

 

\---

 

 _Damn it,_ Brienne thinks, holding a crisply folded paper towel up to the corner of her eye. If her makeup runs, Jaime and his brother will know she’s been crying. Hells, everyone will know, the gods know her face will get red enough if she doesn’t stop now. Her eyes will get all puffy. Gods, she looks hideous when she cries.

 

Sulking, she thinks, _how can Cersei be so mean?_ Call her ugly, fine. Another day that ends in ‘y’. But why did she have to bring up the twins, her mother, _Galladon?_ Cersei’s own mother was dead, how could she use such a thing to torment someone?

 

But mayhaps what really upsets her is that Cersei managed to drag her down to her level for a moment. She regrets bringing up Joffrey--as much as she despises the boy, she has always considered family to be somewhat sacred. Silly her. She had given herself away when she got so mad about Sansa. Still, what she said about Myrcella was over the line. She had known that Cersei would shut it down, but she shouldn’t even have put the idea into the universe.

 

Cersei is finding the cracks in her armor.

 

Brienne digs her nails into her palm and takes a deep breath. Her armor will simply have to get better. She reminds herself firmly that Cersei can’t hurt her--if it was possible for her to get Brienne blacklisted, she would have done it ages ago. And she won today. Cersei is gone and she never saw a single tear. She had sworn to herself a long time ago that Cersei would never have the pleasure of making her cry.

 

She had seen Cersei Lannister shed a tear once, when she thought no one was there. They had been two days into a shoot in the Summer Islands and Cersei had so far referred to her as ‘that hideous girl with the awful hair’, ‘that absolute man with the giant lips’ and, mostly, ‘that cow’. Still, when Brienne saw her crying, she gently asked if she was okay.

 

“You’re very _nice_ , aren’t you?” Cersei had sneered, hastily wiping her cheek. “Still,” she said, looking Brienne up and down. “It’s good you have _something_ going for you.” Brienne had merely blinked at her, an early version of her blank stare that probably looked rather dim. “And you don’t seem too bright. Men like that,” Cersei smirked in a way that turned her stomach.

 

Her attempt at kindness had not softened Cersei towards her--it was the opposite, of course. By the time the shoot was over, she wished she had listened to Sandor’s prophecy that Cersei would make her cry and then she would hate herself. When she was safely back in their bed and her tears had run out, she told  herself she would never cry for Cersei’s amusement.

 

Brienne has a technique for these things. It’s based on truth. She reaches inside herself to the deepest and most basic truths, past what she might _wish_ was true or what she hoped _might_ be true, past any attempts to dress anything up. The truth she seeks is always harsh in these moments: _I’m ugly, I’m ugly, I’m ugly._ She takes hold of that harsh truth and steadies herself until she can say it out loud without flinching. Speaking the truth seems to shut people up somehow. There’s no fun in insulting someone if they get to it first.

 

It had been a painstaking process to learn how to hold a steady gaze when all she wanted to do was run and hide and cry. It had involved staring at herself in the mirror and recalling every horrible thing she could remember anyone ever  saying to her. There were times when she gave up and cried and wondered why she was torturing herself so. But she couldn’t hide from everyone who would be mean to her, so she had to learn how to withstand it with dignity. She’s gotten good at it.

 

It has never been such a challenge. Not just because Cersei had been so ruthless but because _Jaime_ was sitting there the whole time. At least she can be sure the twins aren’t in on some kind of scheme together--Jaime had looked mortified.

 

But if she goes out with her eyes all puffy, it will all be for naught. She stands up in the tiny stall and peeks over the top to make sure no one is outside. She slips out and uses a few handy items from her purse to soothe her eyes and cheeks until they look normal. In the bathroom light, anyway. It will be more noticeable out on the patio. Maybe Jamie was right, mayhaps she _should_ go on more dimly-lit dates.

 

The thought makes her laugh, somewhat hysterically, and she feels the tension inside her break apart a little. It’s the thought of Jaime that finally drives her out of the bathroom. There’s a handsome man outside who likes kissing her and that’s something worth exploring.

 

Water, mountains, jungles.

 

\---

 

Margaery Tyrell is sitting in her seat and poking at her salad. Brienne has had too many shocks today. She wonders for a moment if she’s stepped into an alternate universe--a more sensible one, where Margaery is Jaime’s girlfriend instead of her. Not that Brienne is his girlfriend in _this_ universe. She isn’t sure what she is to Jaime, really. But Margaery isn’t going to let her sit in a quiet, contemplative silence, so she pushes the thought from her mind.

 

“Margaery, you stole my seat _and_ my lunch.”

 

Margaery jumps up, squealing her name and hugging her tightly, clearly having already had too much caffeine already. “I didn’t eat it, I just wanted to see if it had walnuts. I’m gonna have that, too.”

 

“What are you even doing here?” How many people are going to crash this lunch?

 

“Tyrion texted me and said I should come and join you!” Margaery replies, taking up the vacated seat. She puts a hand on Brienne’s arm and Brienne knows that Tyrion told her about Cersei. “How are you?”

 

Brienne smiles and nods. “All good.”

 

“Excellent! Because guess what I have?”

 

“Oh, no...do I have to guess? If I don’t guess, do I not have to see it?”       

 

“What is it? I’m getting rather excited, myself,” Tyrion says.               

 

Margaery giggles quite flirtatiously and says, “I don’t think you want me to use it on you, Tyrion.” The looks of confusion on the brothers’ faces is almost worth what Brienne knows is coming. She takes a hurried bite of her salad while she still can.

 

Margaery reaches into her bag and cries, “The new Eyrie lip kit!” She waves it around, bouncing joyously in her seat.

 

“The who?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Brienne says, “She got new lipsticks.”

 

Margaery waves the package in front of her face and says, “Look at the fuscia! Brienne…”

 

“Margaery, please…”

 

“Brienne, please…just one shade!”

 

“You have your own lips!”

 

“But you’re lips are so amazing!”

 

“What in the hells…” Tyrion says to no one in particular.

 

“I just want to see how this color looks on Brienne,” Margaery says in a sweet voice. Even her wheedling manages to sound musical and charming. Brienne takes another bite.

 

“Ah,” Tyrion lights up. “I, for one, would love to see some make-up magic. Make it crazy! But keep the eyebrows! Why do fashion people hate eyebrows?”   

 

“So that’s two votes!” Margaery crows. “Jaime? Don’t let me down here, Lannister, remember who introduced you!”

 

“Remember whose lips they are,” Brienne adds in an undertone.

 

Jaime holds his hands up and says, “I abstain.”

 

“That counts as a yes in the court of Margaery Tyrell!” She rips open the package and says, “This is gonna look so good, Brie!”

 

With a sigh of resignation, Brienne turns to her and says, “Just make it quick and you better be able to take it off.”

 

Margaery waves a hand vaguely and goes into her weird make-up zone, examining Brienne’s face like a canvas and working with diligence while Jaime and Tyrion, the lucky jerks, get to eat their lunch. As Brienne expected, Margaery does not, cannot, stop at lipstick. She manages it quickly enough and sits back with a blissful smile. “Gorgeous,” she sighs.

 

Brienne has to struggle not to scowl when she turns to Jaime and Tyrion. She probably looks ridiculous enough, she doesn’t need to put Margaery’s work at a further disadvantage.

 

“Wow!” Tyrion exclaims, nodding in approval. “You look like a sexy alien.”

 

“Thanks, that’s kind of what I was going for,” Margaery says smugly. “And it’s long-wear so it won’t rub off,” she says, waggling her eyebrows at Jaime.

 

Jaime is staring at her with dark eyes, the same eyes he gives her before he somehow makes her blush, either with words or kisses, or even just more looks. His looks can say a lot. Her breath catches as his eyes linger on her lips.

 

“Looks great. Brienne,” he says quickly, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to her. “They have a case of sweets inside at the counter, let’s see if they have anything from Tarth.”

 

It’s a thin premise, but she takes his hand and follows him into the cafe, where they walk past the counter entirely and into the small hallway next to it. She’s about to ask where they’re going when he pushes her into the women’s bathroom and locks the door behind them.

 

“This is a public bathroom,” she protests, very weakly, when he urges her up onto the counter and steps between her legs, running his hands up her thighs to pull her against him.

 

“I only want a minute, I promise,” Jaime says against her neck. “This top is nice, but it’s covering you all up,” he complains, moving up to a spot behind her ear that he has discovered is enough to make her tremble in his arms. He kisses his way across one cheek, over the crooked bridge of her nose, and over the other cheek before he moves down to her mouth, all the while holding her hard against him, squeezing her hips. She can feel him more clearly and more closely than she has before, the outline of him rubbing against her, causing a heat to flash through her that makes her dizzy.

 

“My brother was right,” he says against her lips. “You look like a sexy alien. Or an Amazon. An Amazon who’s going clubbing,” he mumbles, biting her collarbone through the silk of her shirt. He’s proving terrible for her wardrobe. Really, the blouse is already a loss, he might as well rip it off. He did say he was _strong enough._

 

One of his hands moves to her breast. Her skin is bare under the blouse since there’s not much need for a bra, and because she didn’t realize how cold it would be today, and because she hadn’t known he would be running teasing  fingers over her nipples until she moans.

 

His other hand inches between her thighs and presses against her. Her head clunks against the mirror behind her. For as much bumping and grinding as they’ve done, he hasn’t really touched her there. She isn’t entirely sure why they’re going so slow in this aspect, but it might be for the better. She’s already overwhelmed by how fast he’s become a fixture in her life and in her thoughts. If they go any quicker, she’s afraid...well, truthfully, she isn’t sure what she’s afraid of.

 

She bites into her lip to keep from crying out when he undoes the zip on her jeans and slides his hand in, rubbing over her underwear and the growing wet spot he finds there.

 

“This is a public bathroom,” she says again, breathing hard and straining towards him. She can’t hold in a cry this time when his fingers slip past her underwear and the heat of them meets her bare skin and slide into the wetness there.

 

“I only need a minute, I promise,” he growls. He seems intent on making good on his vows as he kisses her and moves his fingers over her in rough circles. She’s alarmed by how much she wants him to fuck her in this public bathroom immediately. If she was wearing a dress, she thinks she might tell him to.

 

As if he’s head her mind, he growls, “Gods, I wish you were wearing a dress. I’d fuck you right now if you’d let me.” Then licks the spot behind her ear that he’s so fond of and she comes helplessly, shuddering and clutching the front of his shirt, hiding her moans there, against his chest, where she can hear and feel his heart pounding as quickly as hers.

 

After her fixes her jeans and licks the evidence off his fingers, Jaime groans and drops his head against her shoulder, breathing hard. “Wench,” he murmurs in her ear. “You go out first, or else I’m _going_ to fuck you in this public bathroom,” he says, pressing the incredible hardness of his cock against her, making her jolt and shiver in his arms. “Or I’m going to come in my pants. Neither is ideal.”

 

Still dazed, Brienne nods and sits up. She slips off the counter on shaky legs and checks her reflection. Margaery was right, the lipstick is still relatively in place--but it’s fuschia, and she has done Brienne’s eyes in a sort of reddish-orange, and has been a little too liberal with the blush. But credit where credit is due: the eyeshadow makes her eyes look extremely blue and warms her freckles so that she looks actually somewhat radiant. Then again, that could be the orgasm.

 

Still, ‘sexy alien’ is an accurate description. What she doesn’t look like is a normal person walking down the street. Besides that, she’s bright red, her hair needs a comb, her lips are even bigger than usual...but she can’t find it in her to fret about any of it at the moment. Not when he touches her cheek and says, "You're amazing."

 

She gives Jaime a final heated look over her shoulder and slips out of the bathroom. She has a big glass of water before she attempts to go back to her table, so she’s not so flushed. Then she goes forward to meet the keen eye and knowing smirk of Margaery Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VITAL QUESTION: does anyone care to see any interaction or further mentions of Brienne's past relationships?
> 
> Thanks so much for liking and supporting this fic!


	7. Petals and Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets surprising news and a surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, what was supposed to be a pretty small chapter became the longest one yet at just over 5000 words. This story is fun to write, thank you all so much for the support!

 

 

 

 

Petals and Thorns    

  
  
  
  
  
  


Brienne sips her mimosa and tells herself that she loves her friends. She tells herself this while Margaery’s hand almost smacks her in the face as she wraps up the story of their lunch date for Sansa.

 

“They had so obviously fucked,” Margaery says with a self-satisfied smile.

 

“We absolutely did not fuck in the bathroom,” Brienne hisses, thankful that the three of them are tucked away in a corner of the restaurant for the conversation. She hadn’t denied the suspicious red marks up and down her neck, or the still-dazed look on her face, or her inability to sit still, but she has to dash Margaery’s hopes. “Besides, you practically ordered us to go off like that, talking about how it wouldn’t rub off and making your eyebrow face.”

 

“So you confess,” Margaery says triumphantly.

 

“I confess to nothing, Tyrell.”

 

“Bri, are you alright?” Sansa frets. “Did Cersei say anything horrible to you?” Sansa asks.

 

“Must we really talk about Cersei?” Margaery whines. “All she ever says is horrible things.”

 

“It was entirely bearable,” Brienne replies. “Just extremely awkward.”

 

“Did Jaime at least defend you when she was rude?”

 

“So I could get caught in a Lannister family cat fight?” Brienne scoffs. “No, thank you. Besides, I told him I could handle her. I kind of had to prove it, if only to myself.”  _ She never saw me cry _ , she tells herself.

 

“Did you like Tyrion?” Margaery asks.

 

“Yes, but I meant to ask you, since when do you two text each other?”

 

“Oh...we see each other every now and then, around…” Margaery replies vaguely, not used to being the one interrogated over brunch. “That’s why I thought you might like Jaime. He’s a lot, but he’s very sweet with his brother, so I thought, hey, maybe there’s a core of goodness there.” She sighs. “I guess I willfully ignored his crazy sister.”

 

“Margie, you pushed the idea  _ because _ it made Cersei so angry,” Sansa chides. “You just like making her mad.”

 

“Can’t it be both? Good intentions and bad, two stones, one date?”

 

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Margie. She who laughs last, laughs best,” Brienne says.

 

“Any other clichés for me?”

 

“Yeah. You talk too much.”

 

“That’s not a saying,” Margaery frowns.

 

“No, but it’s still true.”

 

" Ah, please, I’m your best friend equally with Sansa and your gym pass.”

 

_ I love my friends…I love my friends… _

 

“Well,” Sansa says. “Be careful. Like...she raised Joffrey, so she might be crazier than you can tell. And when I was dating him, she and Jaime always seemed  _ really _ close.”

 

“It doesn’t seem like they’re very close anymore.”

 

“Kinda seems like they hate each others’ guts,” Margaery scoffs.

 

“I wonder if they had a falling out or something,” Sansa muses.

 

“I assume it’s some weird twin thing,” Brienne shrugs. “It seems like it would be complicated to be a twin.”

 

“You know...” Margaery says, leaning in with a grin. Brienne has learned to distrust this movement because if Margaery is actually trying to be semi-discrete, then whatever she’s about to say will be insane.

 

“A lot of people have said for a long time that they’re in a total twincest situation!”

 

“Oh, Margie,” Brienne says, rolling her eyes.

 

“No, really! I mean, they were home-schooled or whatever until they were like fourteen…”

 

“Margaery, that’s seriously gross,” Brienne says, looking to Sansa for support.

 

Unfortunately, Sansa is looking thoughtful. “She  _ does _ pretty much act like a jealous lover...”

 

“You guys have both read too many V.C. Andrews novels.”

 

Margaery snorts and says, “The whole family is completely V.C. Andrews, from the cold grandfather to the sadistic grandson.” She points at Brienne and says, “And if this was a V.C. Andrews novel, Cersei would set your house on fire and you’d fall down the stairs and be crippled. Probably while pregnant.” At Brienne’s disturbed look, she says, “What? I love V.C. Andrews.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all, somehow,” Brienne grimaces.

“Just remember that you can’t just have Jaime--you have to take the whole lot of them,” Sansa says, putting her hand on Brienne’s. “You could be Cersei’s  _ sister _ ,” she whispers with a horrified look.

 

“You both need to calm down. I‘ve known him for a  _ month _ , we’re not getting married  _ any _ time soon.” She firmly steers them to another topic, mostly updating each other on work. Margaery smugly informs her that the picture she took of Brienne in her ‘sexy alien’ make-up had gotten over a million likes.

 

But after a while, Margaery brings them back to her favorite subject...other people’s love lives. “Brienne, what was the name of that really insanely tall guy you were dating a bunch of years ago?”

 

“Sandor. Why?”

 

“He had those scars,” she says thoughtfully. “Did you ever massage them? Massage releases scar tissue, you know.” Off Brienne’s bemused look, she says, “What? Willas thinks the company should start making scar creams.”

 

“I did, but only a few times.”

 

“Did he ever tell you what happened? Was there an accident?”

 

Sansa blurts out, “No, it was his  _ brother _ .” She looks up at them and her eyes are shiny with tears. “Can you imagine something like that?” Then her face pales as she realizes what she’s said.

 

“Sansa, how on Earth do you know that?” Brienne asks.

 

“Ah…” Sansa shifts in her seat and looks down at her plate. Even Brienne can tell that she’s a terrible liar. “We ran into each other a few times after you guys broke up and got some drinks…Not really, like,  _ regularly _ or all the time or something…”

 

“So…” Margaery says slowly. “You ran into each other and got drinks  _ sporadically _ ...and he told you the story of his childhood  _ trauma _ ?”

 

Sansa’s face floods with guilt and she crumbles, biting her lip and looking at Brienne with pleading eyes. “Well...I guess...it’s been...more than a few drinks.” Brienne has been speechless for some time, so she hurries on. “But we really did just run into each other first, and only way after you broke up, I swear. I just...I always thought he was really interesting and then we ran into each other, I thought it would be okay just to get to know him a little or something but--”

 

“Sansa, I’m not sure this is helping,” Margaery says under her breath.

 

Brienne truly wishes she could say something to reassure Sansa...but all she can think in her head is that her best friend has been lying to her for…

 

“How long?”

 

“Like...six months…”

 

Margaery gasps, possibly just shocked that someone has managed to keep a secret from her for so long.

 

“I’m gonna go,” Brienne says, getting up from the table without meeting their eyes. She drops some bills on the table, mumbles a goodbye, and walks out.

 

\---

 

Jaime is sitting impatiently at the breakfast bar of his sister’s kitchen, waiting for Tommen and Myrcella to finish getting ready for school. They’ll already be late, but Myrcella reassures him that they’re late so often that the teacher’s don’t even seem to notice anymore. Cersei is passed out in her bedroom or he’s sure she’d be there, demanding to know why he’s here, speaking to  _ her _ children.

 

“So, Uncle Jaime,” Myrcella says, hopping onto the stool next to him. “You’re dating Brienne Tarth? Is she your  _ girlfriend _ ?”

 

“I suppose so,” Jaime smiles.

 

“She’s one of my favorite models  _ and _ my favorite photographers. She’s so cool. I met her once, when Mom stopped by a shoot she was doing. I asked her a million questions and she never got annoyed. All the models I know love working with her.”

 

“You’re fifteen, how many models do you know?”

 

“I’m networking!” Myrcella claims. “So I can get a good internship next year.”

 

“Like you can’t just buy whichever one you want,” Tommen says, coming into the kitchen.

 

“So you can bring it up every day for the rest of our lives? No, thanks.” She ruffles Tommen’s fair hair with excessive force and says, “I’m gonna work extra hard just to annoy you, little brother.”

 

Tommen sulks for a few minutes while he eats the toast Jaime had tentatively made, telling himself he couldn’t mess up a toaster  _ that _ bad. He is also positive that Brienne knows how to use a toaster. She knows how to use everything. She certainly makes him feel useless in the kitchen, although she assures him that she also just likes cooking the foods of her homeland, which she seems to enjoy dishing up for him while she tells him about Tarth traditions and myths, which are some wild tales that explain Brienne’s imagination.

 

She claims not to be very creative—she claims not to be good at much of anything, and it drives him mad—but the elaborate stories that she weaves in her head just to come up with one image that was probably intended to sell bracelets sound fascinating when she let the details slip. She seems embarrassed about them, and he has deduced that they’re dreamy, romantic tales that fit perfectly with her love of the medieval. Her dedication to artistry is so very Brienne that he likes listening to her talk about her  _ creative process— _ though she’d never use such a pretentious term.

 

An artist, a hardy island woman, a jet-setting heiress. Sometimes it seems like Brienne is made up entirely of contrasts. Which makes her unpredictable, and yet, she still has a steady core of immovable traits: her stubbornness, her fierce loyalty, her generosity, her passionate desire to champion against injustice. Tyrion had been appalled to see how much she donates to charity, while Jaime was appalled that his brother had unauthorized access to Brienne’s finances.

 

“I’m thinking of investing! It’s just a little research! Besides, be glad it’s me and not Father.”

 

“I like Brienne,” Tommen declares. “Uncle Jaime, can I have coffee?”

 

“Tommen, you were, like, a  _ child _ when you met her,” Myrcella says, rolling her eyes.

 

“I was _ eleven _ , that’s old enough to know if you like someone or not.”

 

“No coffee, and she likes you both, too.” Not that she has expressly said that, but Tommen has a sensitive, moody side that he thinks Brienne might connect with.

 

“Uncle Jaime,” Myrcella begins in a sweet tone. “Guess what? Brienne is shooting later this afternoon right by our school...is she your girlfriend enough that we can go by the shoot and say hi?”

 

Jaime isn’t entirely sure of the answer, but the temptation to see Brienne in her element is strong.

 

“Is it really after school?”

 

“Right after school, with just enough time for you to take us out for ice cream first,” she says smugly.

 

“How do you even know all this?”

 

“Sansa told me.”

 

“Sansa Stark? Since when are you friends with Sansa Stark?”

 

“Since forever, duh.”

 

Tommen makes a face and says, “Do you just never talk about the fact that she still has a restraining order against our brother?”

 

“Mm, we just pretend Joffrey doesn’t exist. It’s a state of bliss, you should try it.” Jaime doesn’t have it in him to chastise her. No decent person would like Joffrey. He, himself, is thankful that he knows the little sociopath isn’t his child. 

 

He had been conceived at a time when he and his sweet sister weren’t speaking, when she believed her marriage to Robert might be worthwhile and she told him to stay away for a time, until she thought it was time. Looking back, maybe he should have supported her attempt to be happy, but at the time, the thought of her being happy with  _ any _ other man had simply infuriated him.

 

The Lannister genes are strong, indeed.

 

“Anyway,” Myrcella continues. “Sansa asked me to give Brienne a message. I think they’re fighting.”

 

“Hmm. Well, we can do that. But if it backfires, I’m blaming you.” Myrcella rolls her eyes, but agrees to his terms.

 

\---

 

They go for ice cream after school and walk over to the pavilion where Brienne is shooting an ad for Dorne International Limited. The clothing is airy but crisp, exactly the kind of thing his business associates in Dorne wear. He wonders what the sun does to Brienne’s freckles. But he’s with children, he certainly can’t think about her skin darkening against the white sands of Tarth’s beaches while she--ah, no, nothing like that.

 

Brienne is surprised but not displeased to see them. She looks a little confused when Myrcella and Tommen both hug her, but she covers it up well enough.

 

“Myrcella, you look adorable,” Brienne says, waving at the elaborate ponytail/headband/barrette arrangement on Myrcella’s head. “I should shoot you for Teen Vogue.”

 

Jaime thinks Myrcella would probably kill him if he ever called her  _ adorable _ , but from Brienne, it makes her gasp and say, “Oh my gods, do you mean it?”

 

“I’m here, too,” Tommen mutters sulkily.

 

“ _ Hello _ , Tommen,” she grins. “I haven’t seen you in so long, you’re getting tall. You’re what, thirteen now? Still worried about the soccer team?”

 

Tommen smiles a little shyly and says, “No, I decided I don’t care about sports enough to run around in the mud getting yelled at by my gym teacher.”

 

“Know thyself,” Brienne says solemnly.

 

“Brienne, aren’t you gonna say hi to Uncle Jaime?” Myrcella asks slyly.

 

Brienne holds her hand out and says, “Mr. Lannister.” Myrcella complains that they’re mean while they shake hands.

 

“We’re almost done. Have some food if you like,” she says, waving at the buffet in the corner, which causes both teens to clear out. To Jaime, she snickers and says, “It’s all on the Lannisters anyway.”

 

“Give me a proper hello now,” Jaime demands, reaching for her.

 

Brienne slaps his hands away and says, “Later! I’m at work,  _ Mr. Lannister _ .”

 

“I don’t know if I like it when you call me that…”

 

“Fine, I’m at work,  _ pest _ .”

 

“Ahh, much better,” he sighs happily.

 

“You’re bizarre. Wait for me.”

 

Watching Brienne direct is interesting. Everyone on the set obviously respects her and she deftly handles the nervous model, gently but still with some urgency, and she’s quickly snapping away while the model hops between the same two steps, making her loose linen pants ripple and her hair fly back under her hat.

 

“I’d look stupid in those clothes,” Tommen says matter-of-factly. Jaime narrows his eyes when he realizes Tommen has snuck a coffee from the beverage station right under his nose, but decides not to comment for now. If he's up all night, that’ll be lesson enough.

 

The shoot comes to a close with a cheer and Brienne gives a quick thank you to everyone and the crew starts breaking down the equipment. 

 

Brienne comes back to them. She’s wearing her scary spiked boots again, which both Tommen  _ and _ Myrcella look at covetously. She’s also wearing wonderfully tight black pants, a lovely white sweater that shows her freckled collarbones, and what looks like a men’s blue blazer.

 

“I love Dorne International Limited,” Myrcella says.

 

“If they’re international, then how are they limited?” Tommen asks.

 

“They’re limited to people who will spend two hundred gold dragons on sunglasses,” Brienne replies. “What have you three been doing?”

 

“Having ice cream. Can I talk to you for a sec?” Myrcella says, already linking an arm through Brienne’s and leading her away swiftly. They disappear behind a trailer.

 

He and Tommen eat mini cheesecake bites in a more-or-less companionable silence. Jaime tentatively tries to talk to him, but Tommen isn’t very communicative, until Myrcella and Brienne come back a few minutes later. Then he wants to talk to Brienne for ages about seemingly everything under the sun while they walk towards his sister’s apartment building. Brienne is admirably patient and seems genuinely interested in his surprisingly dramatic thirteen-year-old life. Then again, how dramatic had Jaime's own life been at thirteen?

 

His thoughts take an anxious turn as he realizes that Tommen might end up being devastated if he and Brienne didn’t stay together. She would have squeaked and punched his arm for the question, but why did she have to be so fucking lovable?

 

Finally, he’s able to send the kids upstairs after hugs that look less awkward this time around. They both groan when his  _ niece and nephew _ disappear into the elevator.

 

“What are  _ you _ groaning for?” Brienne asks.

 

“I thought we’d never be alone!”

 

“You’re the one that brought kids! You’re lucky I like those particular kids. She stretches her arms over her head in a way that makes her blazer fan out and shows  the tightness of the sweater and the sliver of skin where it rides up. She drops her arms quickly when she sees him staring, but her own eyes are dark. He can’t decide what shade is the most beautiful.

 

“What about you?” he asks. “Bad news from the Stark girl?”

 

“I’ll tell you later,” she says. “I wanna take a shower and go over these shots. Come over at...eight?”

 

“It’s a date.” It doesn’t seem appropriate to make out in the lobby of his sister’s building, so he leads her outside and into an alley. Brienne makes some protesting noises, but is happy enough to put her arms around him and pull him closer when he kisses her, one hand scratching lazily at the back of his neck and one with a solid grip on his belt.

 

Finally, she pulls away, touching her fingers to her lips with the dazed expression that is becoming so familiar to him. She shakes it off and says, “Bring something to drink. Unless you’d like whiskey?”

 

She says it in a lightly teasing tone, but he calls her bluff and says, “I’ll try this fabled whiskey.”

 

“Oh boy,” she sighs. “See you at eight.”

 

He goes upstairs to say a quick goodbye and Myrcella pulls him aside. She says, “You better have a talk with Brienne because she told  _ me _ she’s  _ not _ your girlfriend.”

 

“Myrcella, why would you ask her that?” Jaime groans. “And what exactly did she say?”

 

“I asked if you were going out and she said you  _ had _ gone out a few times. So I asked if she was your girlfriend and she said you haven’t talked about anything like that. Uncle Jaime, what’s wrong with you?” She hits his arm. “Don’t you like her?”

 

“Don’t hit me, and yes, I like her a lot, but I don’t want to push her.”

 

With great wisdom, Myrcella replies, “Sometimes you have to push, Uncle Jaime.”

 

\---

 

He brings two bottles of red wine in case he can’t stomach drinking her ex-boyfriend’s whiskey.

 

She opens the door in blessedly short shorts made of  _ velvet _ and a blue sweater that comes right up to her neck in the front, but disappears entirely in the back. He doesn’t get to appreciate her back very often. Gods, he’s been here for ninety seconds and he’s already hard. He has a feeling this might be a serious talk of some kind. He can’t get constant erections. He will have to think of something horrible, like his father laughing.

 

“Does Margaery always dress you?” he asks, stepping close to her while she opens some of the wine. He runs his fingers just under the edge of her shorts.

 

Brienne breathes out and says, “No, but I tend to follow her guidelines. She claims that dressing me is one of her greatest joys in life. I still say it’s because of the professional challenge.”

 

“What are the guidelines?” he asks, slipping behind her and putting his hands low on her waist, where it has a slim curve before it turns into her sturdy  hips. Brienne’s fingers are white around the wine bottle as his cock presses against the seam of her shorts.

 

“Any kind of special neckline, androgynous, blue, short, cinched, or  medieval-looking.”

 

“Well, whoever chose this sweater,” he mumbles against the bare nape of her neck. “Is a genius.”

 

“Don’t tell Margaery she’s a genius.” She’s breathing hard now as he gently and then less gently bites the soft skin of her neck. She shivers against him, but shoulders him away, saying, “I don’t know how to cover up bite marks and I’m sure as hell not asking Margie.”

 

They carry the wine into what he still thinks of as her treasure room, though she just calls it the study. She puts on a record, which she’s never done before. It’s weird and clangy and loud and she giggles at the face he makes when the wailing vocals kick in.

 

“It’s Siouxsie and the Banshees,” she says over the noise. She turns it down and says, “It was my favorite band for a long time. This was a gift from my ex. He owns a record store.” She sets it gently on the floor and sits down. “Sansa thinks I’m mad at her because she’s dating him.”

 

Jaime sits across from her and says, “Sansa’s dating your ex-boyfriend?” Brienne nods slowly and takes a drink of her wine. “That seems out-of-character.”

 

“Oh, she’s racked with guilt. I’m not mad that she’s doing it, I’m mad that she never  _ told _ me. I hate liars, and so does Sandor.  _ That’s _ what I want an apology for. Because part of the reason I liked Sandor was that he was that he was very straight-forward, really painfully honest. I found that extremely important at the time.”

 

Brienne stops and considers how she can sum up the almost two years she spent with the eternal enigma that was Sandor Clegane. “It was a hard time in my life and he was kind to me when I really needed it. He helped me a lot while I was figuring things out. And...we had something in common...I’ve always been...you know…” She takes a breath and continues quickly, “I’ve always been stared at because of my looks, and he has, too. He has these burns across one side of his face that are pretty prominent. I think that feeling of being outsiders made us close. It was a little unhealthy, actually. We broke up... _ he _ broke up with me because he thought he was  _ influencing _ me too much. I was very angry at the time, but looking back, he was right. He thought I was too nice. He hated it.”

 

“You  _ are _ too nice,” Jaime says.

 

“Well, Sansa’s niceness has been tested by a lot of bad things. It’s immovable. I think sometimes that mine is just based on learned behaviors or naivety,” she sighs. “Anyway, they’ll be good for each other. I encouraged them to spend time together, back then,” she says wryly. “We haven’t seen each other in around two years. Maybe he decided Sansa’s feelings were more important since she’s still my best friend.”

 

“So you’re not still in love with him?” Jaime murmurs.

 

“I was never in love with him. Nor him with me. It was really based on... acceptance.”

 

“And the other one? The whiskey king? We needn’t drink it, by the way."

 

“I see,” she smirks. “Well, my relationship with Tormund only lasted four months and it involved very little getting to know each other,” she says ruefully,  blushing brightly. “But the little he got to know, he wanted to change. He thought I was too shy, too careful, too quiet...it became too much pressure, to be someone I really wasn’t.”

 

“So you dumped him,” Jaime says happily.

 

“Uhh...yeah.” She drinks more wine. “In the end, Sandor made me feel accepted, but not necessarily desired. Tormund made me feel desired, but not really accepted.”

 

“And me?”

 

“I’m not sure yet,” she murmurs.

 

“Hmm...anyone else?”

 

She thinks briefly of Hyle Hunt and his stupid face that she still loathes, though actually not quite as much as Ron Connington, but she will  _ not _ think of them in this room.

 

“Not anyone important. Some of the records are from Sandor, some are from Tormund, and the rest are from my brother.” She chews her lip. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about him. Or my sisters…or my mother.”

 

“I understand. What is there to say?”

 

She smiles. “Exactly.”

 

“I’m sorry my sister said those things,” Jaime says mournfully.

 

“I survived it just fine,” she assures him.

 

They stop talking for a bit to cuddle on the couch in the corner. She protests when Jaime pulls her on top of him, as she always does, even though she now knows she won’t actually crush him, and that he probably wouldn’t care if she did.

 

After a while, she pokes him in the ribs and says, “Okay, Lannister, your turn.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Confessions. Your, uh... _ lovers _ , you know.”

 

Jaime’s heart races and he feels a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. “I’ve only ever been with one woman,” he says after a time, trying to sound disaffected.

 

Brienne starts against him. “One? You mean, in love with, or... _ with _ ?”

 

“Both.”

 

She props herself up on his chest and gives him a wide-eyed look. “Wow...I’m...really quite shocked,” she admits. “How long were you together?”  _ Our whole lives. “ _ A pretty long time.”

 

“How long ago was this?”

 

“It’s been over for some years.” He hesitates to add, “We got together once since then, about a year ago.”

 

“How have you managed to keep this such a secret?” she asks in wonder.

 

Jaime swallows hard and says, “I don’t know, I just did. Is that too weird?”

 

“It’s just surprising,” Brienne admits. “Who was it?”

 

“I...” Jaime wrestles with himself for a few moments. He should tell her. He should tell her now. But then she would pull her body away and tell him to get out and never come back. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.” Or ever.

 

Brienne looks at him for a long moment before she says okay and snuggles against him. He runs his fingertips across her bare back until she shivers. After a while, she quietly asks if that’s why they’re going slowly, and he thinks maybe it is. 

 

“That’s okay. If we went any faster, I think I might break my neck,” she says sheepishly.

 

Jaime holds her in the dim light of the room and worries again how in the Seven hells he’s going to tell a secret like his. He has to do it before they go much further or it will feel like he’s tricking her. But if he doesn’t trick her, she’ll run from him, screaming. Once again, he decides to set the issue aside, although guilt eats at the edges of his mind.

 

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Brienne asks, looking up at him with her ocean eyes slightly narrowed. 

 

“Nothing,” he says quickly, leaning down to kiss her.

 

She ducks away. “You were gonna tell me something before and then you changed your mind.”

 

“And what about you, wench?  _ Not anyone important _ ? I noticed that careful language.”

 

“It’s just a sad, silly story.”

 

“Would it make me want to beat someone up?”

 

She chuckles and says, “Probably, but I got there first.”

 

“Yes!” Jaime cries, successfully kissing her this time. “My Amazon warrior. Now, turn around, this lovely top is blocking my usual favorite spots.” They shift on the couch, which they barely fit on anyway. The couch in the living room would make more sense, but he likes being in her special room. The record she put on has even quieted down and turned a little dreamy and sleepy.

 

Her neck isn’t especially swan-like but it’s long and covered in the same tawny freckles as her chest and legs and presumably every other inch of her. He always gets a shiver out of her when he licks the spot behind her ear, and he has even better access now. She’s soon squirming in his arms and smothering moans into the armrest of the couch.

 

After a while, Brienne looks over her shoulder at him. Her eyes have changed color again, a dark and most promising shade of blue. “Don’t you feel like Sansa’s watching you?” she asks shyly, her face a rich red.

 

“Why? Do you want to move?”

 

“We could go...to my room,” she suggests uncertainly. How she can still be so timid when his hard cock is wedged against her is outside his comprehension.

 

“Lead the way.”

 

He’s beyond pleased when she pushes him towards the bed with some urgency. She’s less quick to get on the bed herself, standing in front of him while he sits. Jaime takes the opportunity to hook his fingers through the loops of her shorts and pull her closer, shoving her top up to plant kisses over the flat planes of her stomach, which makes her jump and sigh and run her fingers through his hair. She laughs at him when he purrs like a cat.

 

He pushes her top higher and she suddenly catches his hand. “Maybe...we can just keep our clothes on,” she suggests.

 

Jaime bites her hip and says, “How many layers?”

 

Brienne moans and smacks his shoulder at the same time. “One is enough, right?” she says, chewing her puffy lips.

 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Jaime growls. “For once, I’m hoping you’re wearing a bra.”

 

Blushing, she hits him again and says, “I am.” Then she frowns. “But it’s…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“See-through,” she sighs.

 

“What a wonderful day,” Jaime says, prepared entirely to tear her clothes off--or at least one layer.

 

She pulls away and says, “Just let me…” She glances longingly at the dimmer switch, but Jaime  _ isn’t _ going to offer to turn the lights down. 

 

Brienne slowly peels off the pretty blue top and her bra is indeed see-through: he can clearly make out her sweetly pink nipples, hard and calling for his attention. Then she quickly peels off the shorts. Her underwear, sadly, is not see-through, but it shows the soft and biteable place at the top of her thighs that eluded him in her Calvins.

 

Then she dives under the covers and yells, “Now it’s your turn!”

 

Jaime laughs while he gets undressed and joins her under the sheets. Her underwear is wonderfully thin. When he maneuvers himself between her legs, he can feel the wetness of her soaking through when she moves against him. Still not thin enough. They hadn’t said anything about not going  _ under _ the clothes.

 

“I consider this cheating,” Brienne protests, even as her back arches and her hips jerk against his touch. Her legs fall further apart. “You’re awful,” she pants, winding her fingers into his hair.

 

“You’re welcome to cheat yourself, wench,” Jaime replies, drawing her hand down between them.

 

Later, she is bright red when she comes out of the bathroom and collects their sticky clothes off the floor and dumps them in her hamper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name is a VC Andrews reference. In Petals On the Wind (sequel to Flowers In The Attic), the brother waits around for years to get with his sister. In If There Be Thorns, someone is confined to a wheelchair and someone dies of smoke inhalation. My adolescence!


	8. In Your Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the support for this story!

 

 

 

In Your Honor

 

 

     Brienne wakes the next morning feeling vaguely uneasy, and though she can’t remember her dreams, she imagines that they were full of whispers and shadowy figures. It had been easy enough to ignore when Jaime was there to distract her, but lying in bed later, she had gone back over his words without end. She drags the covers over her head with a sigh. Everyone is lying to her these days.

 

     Jaime is obviously not telling her something, some secret that he had almost revealed. The confession he _had_ made had been shocking enough. She had thought it might be difficult to forget as the night went on, that she might be only the _second_ woman he _ever_ kissed here or there, or touched in this way or that way. But she had set it aside because...frankly, she wanted him. That was also why she hadn’t pushed for more information.

 

It must have to do with who this mystery person is. How old would they have to be? All he had said was that they had been together ‘a pretty long time’. He doesn’t want to tell her for a reason--could it be someone she knows? Someone she knows...and doesn’t like? There aren’t that many possibilities…

 

Her mind returns to the day before, when Myrcella had pulled her aside after the photo shoot. She had asked Brienne to call Sansa and then abruptly asked if she was dating Jaime. Startled, she had acknowledged that they had gone out a few times. Myrcella had asked if she was his girlfriend, in a very serious tone, and Brienne had replied they hadn’t talked about anything like that.

 

Then Myrcella said, “Just be careful. My mom is crazy, _especially_ when it comes to Uncle Jaime.” Her first thought had been that everyone’s imagination was getting carried away, was there something in the water? But Myrcella hadn’t been joking--she had looked properly concerned.

 

But what does she think her mother is going to do, beat her up? Brienne tries to imagine getting beaten up by Cersei Lannister and it makes her laugh so hard that tears come to her eyes.

 

Then again, she could hire someone _else_ to attack her...frankly, you’d have to search far and wide to find someone who could beat her up, at least without a considerable fight….wait, what is she thinking?

 

But Cersei could also just hire a sniper and have her killed. The idea of Cersei knowing hitmen doesn’t seem all that far-fetched. She seems like she’d probably shoot a man into Pentos just to watch him die.

 

Then she thinks of Margaery and all the damn crap she had said at brunch about Cersei burning her house down. She gets out of bed and sends her friend a grouchy text before she gets in the shower. It turns out that Sansa has already given her a lecture on gossiping, right after she stopped crying and mumbling that Brienne will hate her forever.

 

Best of all, now that Sansa’s cat is out of the bag, Sandor has taken it as an opportunity to call her up and let her know that she’s a fucking idiot for going out with ‘that cunt’s brother’.

 

She sighs, leaning into the hot water. What she’d _like_ to think about is the incredible ways Jaime had touched her last night. He really does have amazing lips. He has amazing everything, actually, if she can trust the glimpse she had gotten the night before. She had been bracing herself for the moment she had to--partially--undress in front of him, as she knew somehow that he wouldn’t let her turn the lights down. It _was_ her suggestion to move into the bedroom. She doesn’t know where all that boldness suddenly came from--especially knowing that she might be only the second woman he’s ever seen in a state of undress.

 

And she had touched him too, almost trembling with trepidation, no matter how apparent it was that he wanted her to. She’s not some kind of maiden that’s never touched or been touched, but somehow everything feels different with Jaime. He’s richer than her, infinitely more beautiful, far more charming...but he’s also silly, playful, kind, and vulnerable. Maybe only with her.

 

Gods, the thought makes her breath catch. She realizes with something close to despair that it no longer matters whether he tells her all his secrets or whether they ever sleep together or anything else—their parting will be agony. She could panic and dump him _today—_ she could get out of the shower and text him right this _second_ , and it would still hurt more than she wants to consider. It’s childish, at this point, to pretend that it’s all some strange fluke and that Jaime will forget about her or get bored or just suddenly realize she’s not very pretty— _ugly_ , really—and that she will shake it off and say ‘thanks for the memories’. It’s too late for that.

 

But he had seen his mystery lover just one year ago. Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe he just wants someone different. Isn’t that what he said, that Margaery hooked him by saying she was unlike any woman he’d ever dated? Then again, he’d also said he never made it to a third date, and they’ve been on quite a few, not even counting things that didn’t really count as dates, like working out...or frantically groping each other through one layer of clothing. Or would have been, if Jaime wasn’t a filthy cheater. 

 

The thing that makes her take heart, however, is that Jaime sometimes seems as unsure and frightened as she does. He covers it well, as well as she’d expect from a Lannister. It’s still slightly impossible to believe that such a man could feel insecure. Then again, she sees beautiful people racked with insecurity all the time. People see strange things when they look in the mirror. His ex must have really done a number on him.

 

Brienne returns to her bedroom determined to let things get along by themselves and see what happens. She sort of hates it, but it’s the same feeling she had when she dropped out of KLU, and that had turned out to be the beginning of something better, something _good._

_Life is good_ , she thinks. She does what she loves, she has friends that make her laugh, and she has a... _boyfriend_ ...she supposes…that she likes. Likes a lot. 

 

_That’s_ enough to think about for now.

 

***

 

A few weeks later, Margaery decides they need to have a party in Brienne’s honor as she embarks on an epic and thrilling new venture: movies. Brienne demurs when her friend proclaims she’s gonna be the next hot shot director. She’s made commercials, which are essentially short films, and she’s not even writing it, just directing it for Tyene Sand, and only because Oberyn Martell had recommended her. 

 

Margaery waves off all her qualifiers and declares they will have a party, pouting and claiming that Brienne never lets her throw parties. This is true, because Margaery tends to look at parties as a sort of vehicle for drama—the party was only good if someone broke up, hooked up, or got arrested, all of which have happened at her parties. 

 

So Margaery almost spits her wine out when Brienne agrees. 

 

“But only twenty-five people, no ice sculptures, no animals, no body shots, no--”

 

“A super fucking boring party, I get it,” Margaery sulks. “Can I hire a band?”

 

“Hire a band? Like who?”

 

“I don’t know. A band.”

 

Brienne is suspicious—she and Margie don’t share the same musical taste at all. Still, it’s probably better than a DJ. “And nowhere too fancy,” she adds. “If it’s my party, I’m not dressing up for it.”

 

Margaery sighs. “I truly don’t understand you sometimes, Brienne.”

 

            “You can still do my make-up.”

 

***

 

             So three weeks later, she and Jaime arrive at a familiar bar. It’s a fairly scummy-looking dive bar, but it’s nice enough inside. She’s been here before, with Sandor. In fact, Sandor’s band has played here a few times. She has a sudden sense of foreboding that is proven right as soon as they step in the door.

 

             Sandor gives her a hug while Jaime gawks at them. She’s going to kill Margaery, who quickly pops up beside her with a cheerful hello. Then Sansa runs up to them. It had taken lots of reassurance to get Sansa to believe that she doesn’t hate her. Margaery’s love of drama is about to take a step too far.

 

             “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says to Sandor.

 

             “Thought Sansa told you,” Sandor replies, glancing to Sansa.

 

             Sansa goes pale and says, “I thought Margaery told you.”

 

             “I wanted it to be a surprise!” Margaery says. Under her breath, she mutters, “You said twenty-five people, not too fancy, and a band. I fulfilled all those promises.”

 

             A band. Of course. “So I guess Ride With the Stranger is playing tonight?”

 

             “Aye. Miss your ears ringing?” Sandor grins.

 

             “Excuse me,” Jaime says loudly from beside her. “I don’t think we’ve met.” He thrusts his hand in between them. “I’m Jaime Lannister.”

 

             Sandor gives his hand a look of significant disdain and says, “I know who you are.” He walks away. Sansa winces and mouths and apology and hurries after him.

 

             “How rude,” Margaery comments.

 

             “It was rude to invite him without telling me,” Brienne counters. “Poor Sansa.”

 

             “Hey, you  all  had to be in the same room at some point,” Margie shrugs. “Just be glad I didn’t invite Tormund. I ran into him last week and he asked if you were single and if he could still, quote, bounce the entire Iron Bank off your ass,” she smirks.

 

             Jaime makes an angry noise and says, “And this person is in King’s Landing now? Do you know where he’s staying, by chance?”

 

             “Don’t answer that,” Brienne interjects.

 

             All the awkwardness feels worth it to see Loras Tyrell’s grimace at...everything around him, including the thrash metal stylings of Sandor’s band. Sansa sits by the stage and watches Sandor with a level of adoration that apparently outstrips the fact that she hates metal.

 

             Aside from the little bit of mischief, the party is fun and she actually knows and likes everyone there, which is extremely rare. Jaime does lots of pouting when Sandor dedicates a song to her, and she’s not sure if he’s actually feeling jealous or if he’s just trying to be cute, but she lets him crowd her into the corner for a quick kiss after a few drinks. 

 

             But Margaery’s parties must have drama.

 

             But Margaery looks as horrified as she does when Cersei Lannister walks in.

 

             How does Cersei even know this place exists? She comes in with another woman and a man, both of whom Brienne only vaguely recognizes. She doesn’t seem to be there to socialize—her eyes search the bar, not for Brienne, but for her twin brother. Jaime has his back to her and she almost wishes she could sneak him out. 

 

             Jaime is extremely weird about his sister. He seems slightly obsessed and angered by everything she does. Cersei is the same—she talks about her brother fairly often, but mostly to ridicule him. Jaime doesn’t bring her up very often—sometimes he seems downright afraid of talking about her, like she’ll do a Bloody Mary if you say her name too many times. That suits Brienne just fine. Thankfully, they haven’t had occasion to cross paths. But the other shoe always drops...

 

             Of course, Cersei can recognize her brother by the back of his head, so it’s too late for any smuggling. She makes a beeline for them and Brienne hardly has time to frantically mumble, “Your sister’s here,” under her breath.

 

             He spins around and comes face to face with her. Cersei gives  Brienne a scathing look, like she’s worse than dirt, then an even more scathing look at the way she and Jaime’s legs are tangled together under the table. Brienne decides then that telekineses can’t be real; if it was, her legs would be bursting into flame. 

 

             Cersei looks very slightly disheveled, which is the most disheveled Brienne’s ever seen her. She also looks kind of drunk, with a gleam of menace in her lovely eyes.

 

             “Brienne,” she says with a beautiful smile. “Happy birthday.”

 

             “You’re about eight months early, Sister.”

 

             “How sweet, you know her birthday.” Her smile has turned into a smirk instantly, and the anger in her eyes has cooled to a frost. Brienne is too drunk for this. Break-ups, hook-ups, arrests…

 

             Cersei takes a seat without asking and without offering one to her companions, who seem content to lurk in the background until she needs them. She has  _henchmen._ The guy looks like he works out. Could she take him? Oh, for Gods’ sake.

 

             “Hey, a real cunt just walked in. No one buy her a drink!” Sandor yells, pointing at their table. Everyone turns to stare at them.

 

             “How rude,” Cersei sniffs. She peers at the stage and smirks again. “Your ex, Brienne?” She looks back to her and gives her a once-over. “You must have made a very attractive couple.”

 

             Brienne has had too many drinks to hold her tongue, or maybe a little happiness has made her combative.

 

             “We’re equally ugly, you mean?” she bites out.

 

             “Well, he’s obviously a  _little_ uglier. How strange to go from  _you_ to Sansa Stark.” 

 

             Jaime’s chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes it back abruptly and grabs Cersei by the arm. “Whatever this is about, it’s between you and me, Sister.” He pulls her away and they disappear down the small hallway that, as far as  Brienne  knows, only houses two bathrooms and  the manager’s office . 

 

             It’s all very conspicuous and she scowls into her drink—her  _last_ drink of the night—as most of the room alternates between staring at her and staring towards the bathrooms. Sansa and Margaery look concerned, but wisely give her some space. Loras looks thrilled at all the free publicity this is going to get her.

 

             It feels like hours pass while she waits for them to return, no longer able to focus on the party in the least. Finally,  Brienne can’t  take  it anymore. She glances around to check if anyone is still watching. Everyone has their phones out, no doubt posting about this all over the internet.

 

             The door to the staff room is cracked. The door is flimsy, so she’s guessing someone tried to slam it shut and it bounced back. Cersei’s back is to her, but she can see Jaime. He looks angry. Cersei reaches up a hand and touches his face, then his hair, then traces her fingers along the collar of his shirt before stepping closer to him.

 

Brienne turns away, not sure what she’s seeing, but certain she doesn’t want to see anymore. _Like a jealous lover..._ Her gin and tonics sit heavy in her stomach and her head swirls as she walks away.

 

***

 

             Jaime almost  _cries_ when he turns in his chair and sees Cersei, and not just her, but with a Kettleblack and the Merrywether woman. She’s drunk, she’s with her favorite enablers, and she’s headed right for them. 

 

             Everything had been going so well, except for her ex-boyfriend threatening him. He can see why they got along—Sandor Clegane does  _not_ mince words, and he protects people he cares about. Also, he’s taller than Brienne, which makes him slightly jealous.

 

             “Oi, Lannister prick,” he had called out so politely. “You know how to disembowel a man?”

 

             “No?”

 

             “I do. Just remember that.” Then he had narrowed his eyes at Jaime and said, “Your sister hurt her.”

 

             “I’m not my sister.”

 

             The other man had seemed more or less satisfied by that, although he had finished up by promising that if he hurt Brienne, he would ‘run him through with a blade until he coughed up his own guts’. No wonder this guy is in a metal band.

 

             And then his sister  walks in and  hurts Brienne again. At her own party, no less. 

 

             He pulls her into the first non-bathroom he sees and slams the door behind him.

 

             “ _What_ are you doing here? How did you even know this place existed?”

 

             “Little birds, Brother. I always know everything, don’t you realize that yet?” She flips her hair over her shoulder and leans against the small desk in the corner of the room. “You’ve been avoiding me, Jaime.”

 

             “You never want to see me anyway, so what do you care?” he asks in exasperation.

 

             “Oh, Jaime,” she rolls her eyes. “Is that what this is about? You feel  _neglected_ ?” She glides towards him across the cramped space, shaking her head. “Of course it is,” she answers herself. “You don’t really like her. I knew you didn’t. I mean,  _look_ at her!”

 

             “You don’t know anything, Cersei,” he says, gritting his teeth.

 

             Cersei gives a mean laugh and says, “You can’t even deny it!”

 

             “She doesn’t look like  _you,_ maybe--”

 

             “She’s ugly, Jaime,” Cersei snaps. “She’s an ugly cow, and you  _will_ stop seeing her and come back to me,” she says, her voice dropping with every word until  _‘_ me _’_ seems filled with menace.

 

             “It’s been a year, Cersei. I’m never coming back.”

 

             She steps closer and reaches up towards his face. He actually finds himself flinching. She touches his cheek, his hair, the collar of his shirt. He glimpses something in the doorway and realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s not closed. He prays to the Gods that it was just the manager trying to actually use his office.  Did he see blond hair?

 

             Cersei clenches her fist in his shirt and pulls him closer.

 

             “I’m your other half, Brother. You’ll never be rid of me,” she hisses.

 

             He wraps his fingers around her wrist and squeezes until she lets go. He takes a quick step back. Is he  _afraid_ of her?

 

             “Just stay away from Brienne,” he says. Her cackle of laughter sticks in his head as he walks away. He wants to take Brienne away from here and kiss her until she smiles.

 

             But Brienne is gone.

 


	9. She Won't Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Just tell me it’s over."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has supported this story!

 

 

 

 

She Won't Let Me Go

 

 

  
  
  
Brienne thinks the pounding is in her head at first, but it’s too early for a hangover. It’s still the middle of the night. No, the pounding is coming from the other room—from the front door.

 

It can really only be Jaime. He had sent her a dozen texts shortly after she left. She wonders now if she should have waited and let him explain, but her stomach had been churning and her vision swimming, the same kind of feeling she had when Ron Connington jumped out of Hyle Hunt’s closet, or when she found out her father was selling off Tarth. So she fled and spent the taxi ride home with the words  _ like a jealous lover _ running through her mind frantically even as she held herself so still that the taxi driver asked if she was okay.

 

She had tried to think of all the siblings she knew. She didn’t know anything about having a brother. Loras and Margaery linked arms and pinched each other’s cheeks. Sansa hugged her brothers and ruffled their hair. But they don’t touch like... _ that.  _ It isn’t like she caught them fucking—it was an innocent exchange, really. But the intimacy of those touches—and the possessiveness of them—was obvious.

 

Maybe there  _ is _ truth to the rumors. But Jaime had looked so angry. Could it be some kind of crazy misunderstanding? She hates romantic movies where the couple goes through all this agony when they could have just said,  _ Can we clear something up real quick? _

 

But then she feels like she’s trying to convince herself. She has ignored warning signs before, and it had ended very badly. Is she so thrilled to have a hot boyfriend who actually touches her that she can’t think straight? Is she being a blind fool? Have her eyes ever really been open with Jaime? She had gone into their date so convinced that it would be forgettable at best, a humiliating ordeal at worst. Yet she had been laughing and blushing and feeling giddy after five minutes. Maybe all he had to do was not recoil on sight to make her lower her guard. She has thought for a long time that she’s tough—now she suspects she just hadn’t been tested the right way.

 

She came to two conclusions before she collapsed into bed. One: she didn’t have all the facts. And two: she was too drunk to think about just then.

 

She doesn’t have that excuse anymore.

 

She had skipped over his messages and sent him one simply saying she didn’t feel well and went home. But  _ of course _ Jaime chased her. She knows him well enough now to know he  _ always _ has to have the last word. If that’s what this is going to be. The thought is as gutting as she knew it would be, even now, and she feels helpless and hates it and hates him for a moment, too.

 

She gets out of bed, but she stops in front of the door, hesitating. The knocks are starting to wilt a little. Maybe she can pretend not to be home, can claim she went to Sansa’s or something. But that would be craven, and the Lannisters will  _ not _ turn her into a craven—not any of them.

 

_ May the Seven give me wisdom and strength. _

 

She opens the door and Jaime  _ falls _ inside, or would have if she hadn’t been there.

 

“Brienne,” he slurs. “You caught me.”

 

“Gods, Jaime,” she huffs, pulling him upright. “What did you do after I left, go  _ swimming _ in rum?”

 

“I wanted to find you and you were gone,” he moans, clutching at her.

 

“I told you I didn’t feel good.”

 

“Let’s get in your hot tub!”

 

“Jaime, you can’t get in the hot tub while you’re drunk, it’s dangerous.”

 

“You’ll save me if I slip under, right? A Lannister can’t die in the bath. You can keep your clothes on. Do you know I still haven’t really seen you naked? You’re so great.”

 

She’s babysitting a drunk Jaime tonight, that’s obvious.

 

“Who let you drink so much?” she mutters, ushering him towards the couch. “I’m gonna kill Margaery.”

 

Jaime grips her arm and says, “Can’t we go in the other room?”

 

She falters, realizing that she doesn’t want whatever is happening to taint her little sanctuary. “The couch is too small,” she says quickly.

 

Jaime looks at her with eyes that are hazy, but still wet. In a small voice, he says, “I can’t go in your treasure room?”

 

“The couch is too small,” she repeats.

 

“And I can’t go in your bedroom.”

 

“Let’s just stay here,” she says, urging him onto the couch. 

 

He pulls her down next to him. “Brienne, I’m sorry!” he groans, slumping over on the couch until his head is in her lap. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but she won’t let me go.” He wraps his arms around her waist so tight that she thinks he must be able to feel her stomach turn over.  _ She won’t let me go. _

 

“Jaime--”

 

“She won’t let me go,” he whimpers again. “She’ll hold onto me forever and ever, even if she doesn’t want me. Even if I don’t want her. Tyrion told me I was stupid. I’m so  _ stupid _ .” He falls silent except for heavy breaths and she feels a tremor run through him as he curls even tighter around her. She gingerly places a hand on top of his head and it seems to be the final straw because he begins to cry in earnest, moaning over and over that he’s sorry and that he’s stupid and that  _ she _ won’t let him go and that he  _ doesn’t even want her _ . 

 

Brienne chews her lip and runs her fingers through his hair with tears running down her cheeks while she listens to him berate himself and beg her forgiveness in turn. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to forgive and doubts that Jaime could say for sure. Maybe he wants absolution for a lifetime of sins. He had said he and his ex had been together for a pretty long time. She’s guessing he meant  _ our whole lives _ .

 

So the last woman he had seen naked was probably his  _ sister _ . Not just his sister, but Cersei Lannister, considered by many to be the most beautiful woman in Westeros, even at thirty-eight. How much more nervous would she have been if she had known that? 

 

She shakes her thoughts off. She won’t be having much of a conversation with Jaime tonight, so she might as well concentrate on taking care of him. Whatever he’s done, he’s in pain and she must help him. 

 

By the time Jaime goes silent, she’s almost fallen asleep. He sits up suddenly and looks at her with his lovely green eyes all red and puffy and says, “I have to tell you something.”

 

“Jaime,” she says gently, hoping to cut off a full admission when it’s all so painfully clear anyway. 

 

“It’s Cersei,” he blurts out in a gravelly, shaking voice. “It was Cersei. It’s always been Cersei.” Brienne nods her head mutely, trying to keep her face impassive. “You already knew.”

 

“I heard a rumor.”

 

“But you don’t put any stock in rumors.”

 

“I didn’t want to think about it,” she admits.

 

“I don’t love her.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“You hate me now,” he says. His voice no longer trembles, it simply goes flat and empty.

 

“I don’t hate you, Jaime,” she sighs. “You should get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow. I’ll get you some water.” She busies her mind by thinking of what she needs to do: aspirin, water, garbage can, blanket. By the time she comes back, Jaime is curled up on the couch. She sets the water on the coffee table and tosses the blanket over him.

 

Before she can move away, he catches her arm and meets her eyes. “Brienne, I’m sorry.”

 

She pulls her arm back and says, “I know.”

 

His eyes fill with tears again. He whispers, “Will you call me pest one more time?”

 

Gods, her heart aches. She kisses his forehead and whispers, “Go to sleep, pest.”

 

She goes out onto the balcony in the bedroom, desperate for fresh air. She tells herself she is the tranquil waters, the immovable mountains, the impenetrable jungle. She longs for the fierce sun, the endless blue sky, the hot sand.

 

But there’s nothing but the black sky and the cold wind.

 

***

 

Jaime wakes up to the sweetest voice calling his name. He opens his eyes with a smile, but as soon as he sees Brienne’s face, composed and closed-off, he remembers all the terrible details of the night before and knows that she will not have a smile for him.

 

His voice is so hoarse that he can’t even get out her name. Brienne points mutely at the glass of water on the table and he takes the time to try to gather his thoughts, think of something to say that will make her stop looking at him like she hardly sees him.

 

He can think of nothing, so he states the obvious. “I told you everything.” She nods, still silent. Jaime takes a breath and says, “Well, thank you, at least, for not throwing me into the street.”

 

“You know I wouldn’t do that, Jaime.” 

 

He presses his lips together for a moment before he says, “I don’t love her. I love--”

 

“Jaime,” she says sharply, holding a hand up. “Don’t.”

 

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be?” he bites out.

 

Her eyes are flashing with anger when she says, “Were you ever planning on telling me?”

 

He will not lie to Brienne. “I wish I could say yes, but I don’t know. I might have never told you if I could have gotten away with it.”

 

“Gods,” she mutters. “Well, thank you for being honest.  _ Now _ , anyway.”

 

“Brienne…understand this. I’ve never even had to  _ think _ about how I would explain this, because I’ve never cared about anyone enough to tell them the truth.” She shakes her head, not looking at him. He might as well tell her the whole truth. “There’s something else...”

 

“The children,” she says softly.

 

His heart feels pressed for a beat. “How did you know?”

 

“It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

 

“Just Tommen and Myrcella. Not Joffrey.” Off her inquiring look, he continues, “There was a time right after my sister got married that we stayed away from each other. She hoped the marriage might be a happy one. So we didn’t see each other for about a year, the year when Joff was conceived. So…at least not Joffrey,” he says with a helpless laugh.

 

A smile touches her lips for a moment. “At least not Joffrey.” Her soft blue eyes are gentle. How can she be gentle with him now, in this moment? “Then what happened?”

 

Jaime thinks of Robert Baratheon’s whores and fat fingers. “The marriage wasn’t a happy one.”

 

“So you had to come and save her,” Brienne concludes. 

 

And he had thought he would. He had thought somehow that it would be their time, hadn’t given much thought to the screaming babe in the next room when he was plotting how he and his sweet sister would run away together. How selfish lust had made him, how single-minded. It hurts to think that he has spent his life in pursuit of one thing and he has nothing to show for it now, at the end. Nothing but the two children he can never acknowledge.

 

“Brienne, just, promise me,” he says urgently. “Tommen and Myrcella can  _ never _ know,  _ never.” _

 

“Of course. You can trust me.” She frowns and says, “That’s why you hardly see them. She won’t let you?”

 

“No. I’m hardly even an uncle to them,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “But it’s for the best,” he adds quickly. “I know that.”

 

She worries at her lip with a sad expression, tears pearling in the corner of her eyes and catching the hard light of the morning sun. Is she really so good that she would shed a tear for him, even now? He wishes for the first time that her eyes weren’t quite so beautiful. Right now, they threaten to shatter the bit of control he’s holding onto. 

 

Jaime says her name and reaches for her, but she jumps up from the couch and says, “Your brother is coming to get you. I’m making coffee if you want some.” 

 

Alone, Jaime leans over with a deep sigh, his head in his hands. He remembers Tyrion suggesting that Brienne seemed like a compassionate girl and he should be honest with her and see her reaction instead of deciding it ahead of time without her input. His drunk brain told him not to wait to test the theory, so he had stolen away when Tyrion went to the bathroom. If his brother is anywhere near as angry with him as he is with himself, he’s in for a round of hell.

 

When he finds her in the kitchen, she has already poured him a cup, with cream and no sugar. She has even made him toast, which is good, because he thinks he will be sick at any moment. He eats in a loud and unbreachable silence, watching her as she dodges his gaze and turns her mug around in her hands.

 

“So is this it, then?” he finally snaps, setting his mug down with a clatter.

 

Brienne glares and says, “You don’t get to be angry after you lied to me!”

 

“Just tell me it’s over,” he says flatly. “You think I’d blame you? You’re probably cursing the day you ever heard my name.”

 

She continues to glare for a moment before her face falls. She rubs a hand over it and sighs. She moves closer, puts a hand on the counter close to his, but she doesn’t touch him and it makes him want to scream. “Jaime…” Her eyes change, like ice cracking. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t  _ understand _ \--I  _ really _ don’t understand--but I don’t hate you.”

 

“But you’re disgusted.”

 

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m…confused...and...dis _ mayed _ . I mean...yes, she’s your sister, but also, she’s  _ Cersei _ .”

 

“I told you I don’t love her.”

 

“I know, I know, I just...I don’t know, Jaime,” she sighs. That seems to be her final word on the subject as she quickly busies herself with rinsing her mug.

 

Only Tyrion saves him from opening his mouth again, though he’s not sure if he would have tried to explain, as if he could, or if he would have tried to scare her away. She’s too good, too compassionate, too kind, for the likes of him. 

 

Tyrion looks half as miserable as he probably does, though Jaime knows it’s not because his brother is hungover. His brother tells Brienne that he  _ hopes _ he sees her again.

 

Jaime lets Tyrion go ahead and lingers behind, not ready to leave Brienne yet. Not even close.

 

“So will I ever see you again?” he asks, not looking at her, he can’t even look at her.

 

“You don’t think I’d do you the courtesy of telling you that to your face?”

 

“Mm. That’s exactly what I want, your  _ courtesies. _ ”

 

“I didn’t want lies, but that’s what you gave me,” she says sharply. “A half-truth is a lie. You only told me the easy part. That was a coward’s move, Jaime.” 

 

“So I’m a coward and a liar, but you don’t think I’m a bad person?” he scoffs. “Just tell me the truth.”

 

“That  _ is _ the truth. I didn’t say it made sense. Do you think any of this makes sense to me?” She looks more sad than angry now, which is more frightening and harder to see.

 

Tyrion saves him again from saying something regrettable. He knows perfectly well that he has no right to be angry, but something about her refusal to condemn him is infuriating. It would be so much easier if she slapped him, called him a pervert, told him to stay away from her forever. 

 

Instead, she will cradle his heart in consideration, and when she gives it back, he will find that he can no longer grasp it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tough chapter to write. Did you shed a tear?


	10. How Soon Is Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is driven to do something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for supporting this story faithfully!

  
  


How Soon Is Now  
  
  
  
  
  


Brienne closes all the blinds and gets back into bed. She doesn’t think her nerves have ever been so tested. It was a struggle not to get angry at times, yes, but Jaime had looked so miserable that it had also been a struggle not to reach for him and tell him not to worry, that it would all be okay--but that’s not a promise she can make.

 

She feels wide awake when she pulls the covers over her head, certain that she’ll never get to sleep, but the exhaustion of the last...only  _ twelve _ hours overwhelms her and she falls asleep after a few minutes.

 

She almost mumbles  _ deja vu _ under her breath when she’s woken again by a knock on the front door, this one much more sedate than the last. Margaery. She can’t find a smile for her troublemaking friend this morning, but Margaery begins spilling apologies before she can chastise her.

 

“Brienne,” she gasps, grabbing her hands. “I’m so sorry!”

 

“For which part?”

 

“For letting Jaime wander off! Have they just left?”

 

“Margaery, how the hells do you know what happened?”

 

“Oh, Bri,” she says, shaking her head, her face pale. “I was there last night when Jaime showed up to Tyrion’s. I know everything...Jaime had already had quite a lot to drink, and truthfully...I was rather hiding in Tyrion’s bedroom. Anyway, once Jaime started talking, it wasn’t hard to figure it all out, and poor Tyrion was so stressed out that he told me everything before I left. That’s about when Jaime disappeared. If I had just stopped outside for a minute, I could have caught him,” she says, shaking her head again. “Ah, Bri, if I had known, I never would have set you up. And I wish I’d never told you those rumors.”

 

    “They would have been true whether you told me or not,” Brienne grimaces.  

 

“What did you do when he told you?”

 

“What  _ could _ I do? I told him to go to sleep. Then I made him coffee and toast this morning and told him I would call him.”

 

“Really?” Margaery says, looking a little surprised. “I figured this would be kind of  a deal breaker.”

 

“It probably  _ should _ be,” Brienne admits. “But the thought of never seeing him again…”

 

“He does seem to make you happy,” Margaery says tentatively.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Brienne mumbles, pressing back tears. “You know, I worried for a little bit, really stupidly I guess, maybe, that it was all a trick that he and Cersei cooked up, and now I almost wish it was true. It would be so much easier.”

 

“Ah, Bri, this is all my fault...”

 

“It’s my own dumb fault,” Brienne sighs.

 

Margaery frowns and takes her hand again. “Bri, he really likes you. Don’t let this take away from you believing that.”

 

But she has already started to wonder if maybe the reason Jaime chose her is because he knew she’d be desperate enough to stay with him. Then she wonders if people would interpret it that way no matter what.

 

As if she read Brienne’s mind, the other woman says, “Well, I’ll support you no matter what you decide.” And thankfully she is the only person who knows. Except…Cersei herself. As Sansa had warned her, she can’t just have Jaime. 

 

“Maybe you should get away so you can think about it,” Margaery says. “How about the two of us go to Highgarden?”

 

Brienne quickly turns down the offer. She’s not in the mood for a road trip with Margaery, and Olenna will question her relentlessly about Jaime. She likely won’t have peace from the Starks either. She doesn’t have to turn on the tv to know that reports of last night’s party are being discussed on the morning news. Jaime is famous, his sister even more so. And then there is she, a strange interloper in the lives of the rich and glamorous. She shudders to think what people are probably saying about her. Getting away suddenly sounds perfect. If there’s one place where no one keeps on the fashion industry, it’s her homeland. Tarth is six hours by plane. She can be there by dinner.

 

“Margaery, why were you at Tyrion’s apartment last night?” she asks suddenly.

 

Margaery pales and freezes for a moment before she sighs and says, “Well, I might as well tell you that...I think I’m falling in love with him.”

 

She  _ definitely _ needs a vacation.

 

***

 

Dropping everything and flying off to another country is surprisingly easy. She feels terrible cancelling appointments at the last minute, but she puts it all in Loras’ hands. He’s happy to let people know she’s taking time off for ‘personal reasons’ because it sounds dramatic. He tries to tell her all about the news stories, but she quickly stops him.

 

Tarth in early April is cool and breezy, the air crisp and sharp with the smell of the ocean. The waters are tranquil, indeed, and the mountains rise in the distance, lushly green with spring. It will be a drive yet before she sees the jungle, as it seems to recede further from the shore every time she sees it.

 

    Before her father sold the northern lands of the island, she would have had no choice but to take the bus up to Evenfall, which, five years ago, made the trip three or four times a day, not always at the same times. There was no need since she and her father were the only ones on the  estate and the house was all closed up. If she didn’t time it right, she would get stuck in town for hours with no money and no company. Now there’s a new bus that goes once an hour because Evenfall is a local attraction, restored to glory with the money from the sale.

 

She briefly considers taking the newly improved bus; nothing will remind of her ugliness like a trip on public transportation. It feels fitting. She is half-convinced that this is punishment somehow for thinking a man like Jaime could ever want her unconditionally. Then her thoughts are distracted remembering his words:  _ There  _ are _ no men like me. Just me. _

 

Of course there’s a condition. Of course he needs someone who isn’t likely to leave. His behavior, the way he touched her, the way he smiled--none of that fits this theory. But the more she thinks it, the more true it feels. Normally she can reassure herself that it must be real because Jaime’s not a liar, but he has proven that he  _ is _ a liar. So who knows what else he could have lied about? Gods, she’s so naive, and no, she doesn’t have the heart for a bus ride this afternoon. 

 

     She rents a convertible and drives up the steep, winding roads of Tarth that are still familiar. The bright sun and ocean view turn dim as the road takes her through the jungle and back to the coast to find Evenfall Hall perched on a high cliff, overlooking a strip of white beach. She takes a deep breath.

 

     She passes the grand front entrance of the house and pulls around the back, where one wing has been turned into private apartments. Her father isn’t there, which is just as well. She mostly intends to brood the entire time. She turns her phone off and shoves into the bottom of her suitcase.

 

One admitted advantage to the gentrification of Tarth is food delivery. The kitchen is empty and she doesn’t fancy having to talk to anyone, never mind the chance that she could run into an old classmate. No, she orders pork and apple skewers with rice and stuffed peppers and drinks spicy Tarth wine until she feels sick and falls asleep on top of the covers.  

 

The next morning is better, despite the hangover it begins with. She feels calmer sitting by the gentle waves. Tarth and King’s Landing are so far apart that it makes her life in the city seem even more surreal than usual. But she certainly can’t be dreaming--she doesn’t have the imagination to come up with a world where people want to take her picture. 

 

She goes surfing and sailing and runs on the beach until she falls over. She visits the family crypts. She stargazes. But most of all, she thinks about Jaime. It’s painful, but she can’t stop herself from picking apart every moment they’ve spent together, looking for lies and half-truths and insincerity. Perhaps he’s a very good liar, but she remembers the storm that had moved over his face when she asked about his past loves. A good liar, yes, but there are some things he can’t cover up.

 

    And it certainly makes sense that he would want to keep such a thing secret, and that he expected her to leave him. Margaery obviously expected the same thing. But people have always had their expectations, and she’s always done her best to defy them, hasn’t she? A resentful voice in the back of her head asks why she’s bending over backwards to justify Jaime’s actions. She hates liars. But even in the face of  _ this _ , she can’t forget the way he makes her feel.

 

    Or, the way he  _ made _ her feel, maybe. Who’s to say if she can possibly still kiss him without thinking of his sister and wondering if he’s doing the same. And she still has the uncomfortable, glaring fear that this explains everything: Jaime had finally found a woman so wretched that wouldn’t dare leave him.

 

_     No, _ she thinks.  _ No, godsdammit. _ That doesn’t make sense. If that was true, why did he look so devastated that morning? Simply because his plan hadn’t worked? If he thought her so desperate, why didn’t he tell her earlier? Then again, he had admitted that he might have never told her at all. But couldn’t that be because he was afraid she’d leave? Jaime Lannister, afraid that she’d leave him. The gods themselves couldn’t have thought of something more absurd.

 

    She can’t simply deny Jaime’s feelings. That’s unfair. But if they’re real, that means walking away could be a terrible mistake.

 

    She decides what she has to do at sunrise on day three. She simply hopes she has the heart to go through with it.

 

*** 

 

Brienne disappears. At least, that’s how it appears to Jaime. Tyrion tells him she cancelled all her appointments and isn’t answering her phone for anyone. Jaime doesn’t even bother trying. He swings back and forth between being desperate to talk to her and believing that this is what’s best. For Brienne, anyway. For him, it feels like the sky is caving in and he has no one to blame but himself. Actually, he feels more like the sky has  _ already _ fallen: the excitement is over, and all that’s left now is the damage.

 

He just wishes he had touched her one last time. Instead, his last touch was a pitying kiss on the forehead. His last words were a weak ‘I’ll wait’ when she said she’d call him. 

 

    Tyrion had berated him in the car while Jaime stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on the pounding headache that was pressing into his temples instead of the thoughts running through his mind. While he had been sleeping off the rest of his hangover, Brienne had likely been flying overhead, back to Tarth. She wouldn’t have gone to Highgarden or Winterfell, not with Olenna Tyrell and Catelyn Stark in residence. Now he can’t talk to her even if he somehow finds the words he needs.

 

He had thought he would want to kill his sister, truly, but all he felt was relief when she failed to call and gloat. Surely she knows Brienne is gone. Maybe she’ll be satisfied with that. If he can’t have Brienne, perhaps he can at least get away from Cersei. It makes him sick to think that he would have gladly stayed by her side just one year ago. And he understands now that this isn’t a sudden change--he has just never crossed her before.

 

Jaime wakes up on the third morning to his phone ringing, but it’s an unfamiliar number, in an odd formation he’s never seen. He grumbles about it while he gets up, but it’s probably best that it woke him since it’s already ten. He’s taking an extended leave of absence, extended to however long he can get away with it before his father notices.

 

He gets a text from Myrcella while he’s eating cereal in the kitchen.  _ If you won’t come out, I’ll come in! See you soon! _ Myrcella has been very concerned about he and Brienne, even though she doesn’t really have any details aside from the fact that Jaime had admittedly fucked up. Her first question, however, had been what her mother had to do with it. But he can’t blame it all on Cersei.  _ He _ is the liar.  _ He _ is the coward. 

 

    Myrcella brings him what she deems a proper breakfast, which is a bran muffin and some kind of green juice that he subtly nudges behind the coffee maker while he makes himself a  _ proper _ pot of caffeine. His phone buzzes again while he’s working his way through the muffin. 

 

“Will you please answer that?” Myrcella huffs after a few rings.

 

“I don’t know who it is.”

 

“Duh, that’s why you answer the phone, Uncle Jaime. Do you know they used to not have caller ID? You  _ always _ had to answer the phone.” Myrcella is reaching for the phone when the ringing stops. “That could have been important, you know,” she says.

 

She convinces him to go for a walk in the park. They follow the paved trail in easy silence until she turns to him and says, “Mom doesn’t know I’m here. Why doesn’t she ever want me to see you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “I suppose she’s just very protective.” He can feel her staring at him angrily while they walk. She almost reminds him of Tywin for a moment. Then she sighs and moves on. He doesn’t mention that the phone had buzzed in his pocket again.

 

When it rings a fourth time, he’s finally fed up.

 

“Hello?” he snaps. “What do you want?”

 

“Um, Jaime?”

 

“Brienne,” he gasps, dropping into the nearest chair. “If I had known it was you--”

 

“I’ve been calling all day…oh! I’m calling from the landline here, the number is totally different. Damn. Wish I’d thought of that.”

 

“Where is here?”

 

“Evenfall. Listen, Jaime, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Umm...something I  _ need _ to ask you…”

 

“Ask me?”

 

“Yes…exactly how soon did you want to visit Tarth?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprised? I just had this idea about four days ago, so bear with me on updates. I will listen to tropical music and try to show a hard-working image. seamscribe fighting!


	11. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"How soon did you want to visit Tarth?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to post sooner, but as consolation, this is the longest chapter yet. Much angst and long internal and external monologues.

  
  
  
  


Salt

 

  
  
  
Jaime’s plane touches down in the glaring sunshine of Tarth at around two PM. The high sun is fierce and he can feel himself starting to sweat as soon as he steps out of the modest airport. It would have been faster to fly into Yantar, the city on the northern end of the island, the resort end that has more flights. And obviously he had wanted to just take the company jet, but Brienne forbade that and ordered him to take the eight AM flight to Evenfall.

 

The flight seems to take forever, and he’s wound so tightly by the time they land that he has no idea  _ what _ he’ll do when he sees Brienne. He feels pressed for breath and slightly dizzy and maybe it is spontaneous sunstroke that makes everything in head head drop away when he sees her. She waves and beckons him over. His feet take him to her.

 

He’s struck suddenly by how odd-looking she really is. It’s as if the gods had too many big pieces left over, so they gave them to Brienne: eyes, lips, teeth, nose, all in a wide face. A veritable pile of extra freckles. Curiously strapping shoulders. She’s definitely closer to ugly than pretty. Then she smiles at him and all he can think is  _ Gods, this girl… _

 

She looks different, somehow, than she does in King’s Landing. She’s free of makeup and the sun has darkened her freckles enough that she almost looks tan. She’s wearing blue boat shoes,  cut-off denim shorts that show the generous length of her strong legs, and a threadbare blue t-shirt. She has on a sports bra underneath, which is good because the shirt is so worn that he would undoubtedly be able to see her nipples. If she were a different woman, Jaime would think she did it on purpose. 

 

She smiles shyly and says, “Hi, Jaime.” To his shock, she takes his hand and steps close enough to him that he can almost feel her wild heartbeat. She lingers there for a breath and then pulls back before he can reach for her. “Welcome to Tarth.”

 

He squeezes her hand. “Hi, Brienne. Thanks for inviting me.”

 

She smiles and pulls her hand back, taking a deep breath. “So, I can drive you up to Yantar if you wanna stay at one of the resorts, or there’s some B&B’s here, but...ah…I…figured you might want to stay at Evenfall Hall. With me.”

 

“Gods, wench,” Jaime says, letting out a sigh of relief. “You really kept me on the hook, there.”

 

Brienne flushes and says, “Sorry, I just--I didn’t wanna... _ assume _ ...not that  _ you _ should assume! I just thought you’d like to stay there because it has an armory and I’d never let you go to one of those resorts, so--”

 

“Brienne, you really don’t have to convince me, okay? I’d be honored.”

 

They walk towards the parking lot. “I had a convertible, but it felt a little delicate. I traded it for a Jeep, which is what I used to drive in high school when I worked as a tour guide during the summer. The guests all really liked me until we started driving, then all of a sudden I was ‘the crazy girl in the Jeep’. Do you get motion sickness?”

 

She sometimes babbles when she’s nervous. She has touched him but she still hasn’t explained anything about why she asked him here. She points things out as they drive, a couple of stunning panoramas, but Jaime finds himself unable to stop staring at her, darting her eyes away from his and chewing her lip.

 

Finally, he stops her, saying, “Brienne, why did you invite me here? Why are you--you can’t be planning to just pretend nothing happened.”  _ I can’t lie anymore. I can’t pretend anymore.  _ Brienne sighs and tells him to hold on. A minute later, they pull over to a scenic vista and she beckons him to get out. They stand against the railing, looking out over the blue waters. He has to force himself not to keep looking at her. Gods, he wants to touch her.

 

Eventually, she breaks the silence, murmuring, “I need to know if it can be normal again.” She turns to him, her eyes sparkling against the ocean background. “Do you know...why it’s hard for me to decide what to do?...Because I just…” She drops her eyes and quickly mumbles, “I really like you, Jaime.” 

 

She looks up after a moment and continues, “But I need to know if it can be the same way it was. I need to know I can trust you. And I thought it would be best if we did that  _ away _ from King’s Landing.” Her meaning is clear. “So just act natural. Stop looking like I’m gonna throw you off a cliff at any moment. Do you really think I’d ask you to fly to Tarth just to break up with you? How wasteful would that be?” 

 

Jaime laughs at that. Maybe it’s possible to  _ act _ natural. He reaches for her and she jumps away, flushing, and says, “Ah, um...I’ll let you know when we’re kissing again, okay?”

 

“Ah _.  _ Understood.” 

 

They return to the Jeep and continue the drive, which he can appreciate a lot more now. He understands the urge to turn your phone off. Or hells, throw it in the godsdamn ocean. He had been sent too many links to too many articles about him, and he never liked what they had to say on the occasion that he was stupid enough to read them. Of course, Brienne was on her island, thinking deep thoughts, while he was in King’s Landing, wallowing in self-pity and reading mean comments on the internet.  

 

He asks what she’s done since she arrived on Tarth. She recounts her activities, but then adds that she hasn’t visited the armory. The armory where they found Duncan the Tall’s shield!

 

“You haven’t gone? You’re a terrible wench!”

 

“I don’t believe wenches visited armories, at  _ any _ point in history. Anyway, it can be the first thing we do, okay?”

 

“Were you saving it for me, wench?”

 

Without looking at him, she replies, “Not that I know of…”

 

“And you say you’re not clever with words!”

 

“I’m not!”

 

Evenfall Hall is beautiful, perched on its cliff in a bed of mossy greens. But they cruise right past the grand entrance into a small lot in the back while she explains about the apartments at the back of the castle. Then shows him to his room...the  _ guest _ room. 

 

“Is that your childhood bedroom?” he asks, gesturing behind her.

 

“Gods, no, we couldn’t afford to live here. The house was all closed up. My childhood bedroom is in the carriage house over the hill, but it’s been redecorated by one of my father’s girlfriends. We’ll pass it on the way to the armory. It’s a bit of a walk, but I’m assuming you won’t mind seeing some Tarth countryside?”

 

Her childhood home is a rather lovely carriage house, which she assures him was only restored after the land sale.

 

The armory is stunning. Luckily, Tarth had many caretakers who cared about preserving the weapons--some houses lost some of their greatest treasures due to sloppy management. Here, the walls are lined with long swords, shields, maces, suits of armor in all different sizes, warhammers, lances...and Brienne knows enough about all of them to keep them occupied there for over an hour. 

 

Jaime notices there’s a fencing hall in the room next door. Does Brienne fence? Or course she does. 

 

Just not today. “Maybe if my feet weren’t killing me. And we still have to walk back,” she grimaces, sitting on a marble bench that probably predates Robert’s Rebellion. “We should head back for dinner soon.” Instead of making any move to get up, she stretches her limbs out  and leans back on the bench with a sigh. She changed before they left for the armory, saying that she’s representing the Tarth family while she’s here. Part of why she stays in the house.

 

She changed into close-fitting black capris, a baby blue button-down, and white sandals. He had actually never paid all that much attention to her feet, except to wonder if she had her shoes custom-made. (She did.)

 

He gets to one knee and Brienne squeaks in horror and sits up. “Relax,” Jaime says, shaking with laughter. “I was just gonna offer to rub your feet!” He takes one into his lap quickly before she protests.

 

Brienne glares at him and uses her other foot to kick him in the shoulder. He gets her sandal off and she sighs when he squeezes her heel, the back of her ankle, tracing up her calf, before he sinks his thumbs into the sole of her foot. 

 

“Do you have some kind of big foot fetish?” she mutters.

 

“No,” Jaime replies seriously. “I have a Brienne Tarth fetish.” She groans and kicks him again. “It’s a fetish where you’re extremely aroused by any part of Brienne Tarth.”

 

“You’re patient zero, pest,” she says, kicking him again. He looks up the length of her. It’s a shame she changed into her sensible black capris instead of leaving on her obscene denim shorts. He should have spent more time at her feet if he knew what the view was like. And all the better place to worship her. He slides his hand up to the back of her knee.

 

Brienne shivers, staring down at him from the bench with her lips parted, her breaths quick and her eyes dark. Most of the time, they’re a clear, stunning azure. It had taken several paint swatches to ID it. When she’s sad, they turn cornflower. When she’s angry, they look icy.

 

But when she’s turned on, they’re just like  _ sapphires. _

 

“Thinking of anything in particular?” he murmurs quietly, presses a spot in the arch of her foot that makes her moan.

 

“Not at all,” she says hoarsely. “What about you?”

 

He takes her foot and places it fully in his lap. She jumps when she feels the hardness of him, biting her lip. “Nothing at all,” he murmurs, tracing his fingers over the top of her ankle. He groans when she flexes her foot.

 

Flushing scarlet, she kicks him again and sits up, saying, “Okay, foot massage over.”

 

“But I haven’t even done the other side, wench,” Jaime says innocently. “You don’t wanna be walking all crooked, do you? Because of your  _ feet _ , I mean?”

 

“You’re terrible,” Brienne scowls. She stands up and yes, he should definitely spend more time down here. There’s something undeniably at exciting about her looming over him, all fierce and stormy, like an angry island deity demanding his devotion. She dances away when he tries to reach for her and starts for the exit, calling, “I’m too hungry to keep kicking you, come on!”

 

They drive the Jeep through a few miles of rocky terrain to a tiny and all-but-empty restaurant, if one could call it that. They have boar ribs with roasted figs and spicy Tarth wine. Apparently, boars are a staple of the Tarth diet ever since some ancient Tarthian went off into the winter to find food and talked to the spirit of the boar or something like that. After a glass of wine, he starts listening more to the rhythms and melodies of her voice than her detailed history of Tarth’s agricultural struggles.  

 

Finally, she kicks him under the table and says, “Jaime, I know you aren’t listening, because I just said Tarth used mermaid labour to mine for marble!”

 

“There are many fabled creatures of old,” he intones seriously. Brienne kicks him under the table. 

 

On the drive back, she says, “Do you get jetlag? It’s only noon in King’s Landing.” He yawns as if on cue, due more to the drink than to genuine tiredness, although he has to admit that he does feel a little drowsy. “You may want to take a nap. That Tarth wine is strong, and I don’t want you to be tired later. I wanna show you something and it’s a bit of a swim.”

 

“Ah, a midnight swim?  _ Should _ I bring my suit?”

 

“You just better hope I don’t toss you off the boat.”

 

“As long as you give me a life vest…”

 

She gives him the briefest kiss on the cheek when they part. She smells like ocean air and lemons. The scruff of his beard leaves a pink mark across her cheek like a blush. She raises a hand to it and mumbles a goodbye.

 

Their beds aren’t against the same wall, so he can’t hear any particular noises from her room. He strains to hear anyway. He wonders if she’s actually going to sleep. He doesn’t really want to, but if it means staying up all night swimming in the ocean with Brienne, he will nap happily.

 

He thinks it’s gone well so far. He hasn’t thought of their troubles in King’s Landing since they entered the armory. Thank the gods for antique swords. And Brienne hadn’t gone into any of her distant, introspective silences. Hopefully that’s not what she’s doing now.

 

He tosses and turns for a bit before he falls into a restless sleep. He dreams of Casterly Rock. Hooded figures with spears chase him into the deepest reaches of the castle, to the caves at the base of the monolith. Ghosts crowd him and taunt him and leave him in the darkness. Until Brienne appears with a flaming sword and vows to protect him.

 

He scoffs at himself when he awakes, wondering what the wench would make of such a dream. He even remembers something about swords lighting the black cavern.

 

He gets out of bed, excited to find out what this secret swimming surprise is.

 

Brienne’s hair is messy enough that she must have at least laid down. She’s changed into a t-shirt and shorts with boat shoes. “You don’t get seasick, right?”

 

“Wench, I consider the very question an insult.”

 

She leads him to a small fishing boat that definitely doesn’t have a bed hidden in it anywhere. Brienne seems distracted, giving him only nervous smiles and one-word answers until he asks about the constellations. She finds the scorpion. “Margie says it makes me a good friend who loves being right,” she says with a wry smile. 

 

“And hates liars,” Jaime says, his voice almost lost to the water moving past them. Louder, he says, “Brienne, I’m sorry I--”

 

“Hold on,” she calls out over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

 

He loses his courage when they stop and there’s nothing but silence around them. He loses any chance of words when Brienne strips her clothes off to reveal a one-piece bathing suit with a blue gradient pattern. It begins with baby blue at the top and ends with navy blue at the top of her strong thighs.

 

“Wench, you’re finally in a bathing suit and it’s in the middle of the night. You’re doing it absolutely wrong.”

 

“Stop calling me that, pest.”

 

Maybe it’s sad that being called ‘pest’ makes him so happy, but he doesn’t care much right now. “I haven’t called you ‘wench’ in hours, and it was very difficult when you were pouring the wine, you know.” 

 

“Mm. We’ve been over the bust requirements for serving wenches.”

 

“Let’s make a private exception. Would your dressmaker find that request very odd?”

 

“Shut up, Jaime.” She turns around and jumps quite gracefully into the water, surfacing a moment later and calling, “What are you waiting for?”

 

He follows her into the water and they swim about five minutes in the dark. He’s glad he had that nap. His arms are legs are aching by the time Brienne announces their arrival. Perhaps they can go to the hot springs tomorrow.

 

Brienne disappears in front of him and it seems for a moment that he’ll just crash into the cliff wall, but when he’s close enough, he sees that there’s a cave hollowed into the stone, eroded away into a natural grotto. It’s pitch black inside. He thinks of his dream and her flaming sword. As if on cue, she tells him to hold on and a five minutes later, a flame bursts into life. She has an apparently waterproof lock box with matches, candles, a life vest, flares, and a first aid kit. 

 

“It floods during high tide,” she explains. “I spent a lot of time here after I found it. It’s easy enough to canoe to, but far enough and small enough that no one ever bothered me in here. Once I thought of the lock box, I could bring books and snacks out and spend all day here. Well, not  _ all _ day, it’s a little cramped, but I couldn’t really fit a cushion in the box, so…” She’s rambling again. 

 

There’s a seat molded in the cave wall, probably from the waters of the high tide crashing in. Brienne lifts herself onto the seat and lights a few more candles until he can see the whole cave. 

 

He makes his way to the ledge and folds his arms there next to her. Quietly, he says, “I dreamed of you.”

 

“Oh, boy…”

 

“I was chased down in the dark and you saved me with a flaming sword.”

 

“We spent too much time in the armory,” she says with a slight smile. 

 

They sit in a silence for a moment, one that suddenly becomes full of foreboding when Brienne clears her throat and looks away from him. She pulls her legs up onto the ledge and wrings her hands.

 

She says, “So have you talked to your--ah...umm....did you see Cersei before you left?”

 

“No, thankfully. I thought about storming over there, but the better thing seemed to be to stay away. I thought she would call me, but she didn’t.”

 

In a low tone that nonetheless seems to echo in the small space, she says, “Were you hoping she would?”

 

“Hoping? No. Fearing? Yes.” Brienne rubs her lips together and stares at the shadows flitting across the walls. “Brienne, I have already told you, I don’t love her.”

 

She takes a deep breath and turns to him, silhouetted in the flames behind her. “You said you were together eight months ago. What happened?”

 

Jaime slips deeper into the water. “We had a fight. I’d really prefer not to discuss all the gory details, Brienne.” 

 

“When did it start?”

 

He pushes away from the wall and retreats into the shadows. “Do we have to talk about this? Now? Is this what you brought me out here for? To interrogate me when I can’t get away?”

 

Her voice is hard when she replies. “You know how to work the boat. Go and run back, if you wanna be a coward again. I can swim back just fine. But if you do that, you can also book the first flight back to King’s Landing.”

 

“What is it, Brienne? You think you’ll  _ understand _ if I give you all the facts?”

 

“I’ll never understand,” she says bluntly. “But you owe me the truth, every bit of it, and I need to know you’ll give it to me, no matter how ugly it is. If you can’t do that, I can’t do  _ this _ .”

 

His back hits the wall. He can’t see her eyes in the chaos of light behind her. For that, he’s grateful.

 

“It started when we were thirteen,” he says, trying to sound matter-of-fact. He wishes now that he could gage her expression, although he doubts it would give anything away. Even a shocked gasp would be covered by the lapping waves around them. “Of course, we had been curious before that, and it didn’t seemed strange at all to...learn from each other. We believed we were two halves of one whole. It only seemed right. 

 

“But we didn’t fuck for the first time until our thirteenth nameday. There was a big feast and we somehow managed to sneak away. We were so fucking reckless back then. We only had a year before our father decided we needed to be  _ among our peers _ and sent us both away. She went to King’s Landing, I went to Lannisport,  _ of course _ . From then on, we only saw each other at holidays. But we wrote to each other, real letters, filthy letters full of declarations of undying love. We burned them as soon as we read them. We were convinced it was us against the world, everyone that wanted to keep us apart. We fancied ourselves very much in love, or at least I did.”

 

“Then you finished school.”

 

“And reunited. I moved to King’s Landing and we picked up where we left off...until  Cersei met a politician named Robert Baratheon. She always loved the game of thrones, so she saw a chance to gain some power, if not her own. With some well-placed whispers in Baratheon’s ear--mainly from my father--they were married within a year.”

 

“And you didn’t see each other for?...”

 

“Five months. She was already pregnant with Joffrey when I saw her. She cried when she told me. She hated him so much. He turned out to be hung up on some childhood girlfriend who died, which didn’t stop him from fucking everything with two legs and perky tits.” Brienne makes a disapproving noise at his language and he snorts. Of all the things to react to. 

 

Turning his back to her, he continues, “She was four months pregnant, but we still fucked in Robert’s bed. Afterwards, she asked me to come back to King’s Landing. I preferred that she leave Robert and run away with me, but she laughed at that idea. I wanted to be with her, so I said yes.”

 

“What were  _ you _ doing for those five months?”

 

“Working and missing my sister.”

 

“Did you meet anyone?”

 

“No. I didn’t want to. I only wanted  _ her _ . Only the Gods know how long I would have waited.”

 

“What happened when you came back?”

 

“It was very different. We had to be more careful than ever. Discretion has never been my strong suit...wench, I can hear you laughing over there!”

 

“I’m sorry!” Brienne snickers. “That’s just such an understatement. You must be  _ really _ lucky if you never got caught.”

 

“We never did, mostly because Baratheon didn’t give a damn about Cersei or anything she did.”

 

“Was Joffrey always terrible?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hm. Good thing she didn’t run away with you, then.”

 

“Ah, always the silver lining.”

 

“What happened when Myrcella and Tommen were born?”

 

“Nothing,” he replies bitterly. “She made it very clear that I could  _ never _ be their father, and that I should stay away from them because it would look suspicious, apparently, for an uncle to care about his niece and nephew. Anyway, we went on meeting secretly. We’d fuck and then she’d kick me out until the next time she felt like distracting herself. Of course, at the time, I really believed that she just couldn’t see me, that she was suffering just as much as I was...but...I’m not sure about any of it anymore.”

 

“What happened eight months ago?”

 

“We fucked and she kicked me out. Tyrion had already told me she’d been with other men. I don’t know why I went to her. She sure as hells wasn’t devastated about Robert. But before she kicked me out, she asked me to make sure Casterly Industries would stop poking into Baratheon Corp’s finances. That’s when I finally realized that she was using me. She was always using me. I don’t know when it changed. It wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been.”

 

“What happened since then?”

 

“Nothing. We tried to have lunch a few times, under some absurd pretence of having a normal sibling relationship, but I realized that Cersei doesn’t actually have much to say if it’s not compliments for herself or insults for others. I don’t know how I loved her for so long. But I already told you I’m stupid.” 

 

Quietly, she replies, “We can’t help who we love.”

 

“Well, anyway, one day, Tyrion and I were having lunch and Cersei and Margaery showed up. Margaery told me about this girl she knew named Brienne who did some modeling but was mostly a photographer who was  _ ugly-pretty.  _ You know the rest.” He breathes out. “That’s everything. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

They sit in silence among the shadows for a minute. He swims close enough to see that she’s frowning and chewing her lip, wringing her hands again. She turns and blows out the candles. He hears her slip into the water next to him. She tells him to take the seat and they trade places. Now, all he can see of her is the pale outline of her shoulder, which seems to gather the moonlight and glow in the darkness. He’s again reminded of his dream.

 

She’s quiet for a long time, looking out at the ocean. Finally, she says, “I guess I owe you.”

 

“Owe me?”

 

“A secret. One for another. Is that fair?”

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Brienne. You were right. You deserve to know the truth.”

 

She moves further away and says, “I need to tell you this.” When she speaks again, her voice sounds far away. “A few months before my brother died, he gave me some advice. He told me,  _ BB, boys like girls who are two things: pretty and easy to impress. You might never be the first one, and I’m damn sure you’ll never be the second one.  _ He told me to be very careful about what boys I trusted.” Thanks for giving her a complex, bro…

 

“I thought I took that to heart, but I guess I thought things would be different when I got to college. They weren’t, and I didn’t care about mechanical engineering, and I hated the weather. But I met Renly over that first summer. It made me feel...not so bad about myself.” 

 

_ Gods, she can’t even say she felt  _ good _ about herself. _ He wants to move closer to her, but he stays on the rock. 

 

“So when I got back to school and some of the boys started talking to me a little more, it didn’t make me  _ quite _ as suspicious as it would have before.” She sighs. “I found it really weird from most of them--they hadn’t been...especially nice to me the year before. But there was one boy. He had been nice enough, never mean, anyway, and he didn’t...he acted...like he just liked me. He didn’t suddenly ask me out or say weird sex stuff like his dumb friends. He just kissed me one day while we were studying.

 

“We went out for a few weeks. I thought he really liked me. I forgot all about my brother’s advice. He started pushing me to sleep with him...one day, he was being weirdly extra aggressive. His roommate had gone for the weekend, so he asked me to come over. He started...kissing me and...saying all this stuff...about...how much he  _ wanted _ me.”

 

Jaime decides he is finding this boy and having him killed. He has a feeling the end of this story is a sorry one. He knows it when he hears a noise like a sob echo from the other side of the cave, in the deepest corner.

 

“And then...then...his…” her voice trembles. She takes a deep breath and says, “Then his friends all burst out of his closet laughing. It turned out that it was all for a bet about who could take my virginity. I suppose they were supposed to wait until he got a little further, but I guess they just couldn’t contain themselves.”

 

Now Jaime slips into the water and goes to her. He takes her hand under the water, feeling it shake, and says, “Brienne, look at me.” She does and he can see the faintest glimmer of tears in her beautiful eyes. “I don’t have to know these pricks to know that I’m nothing like them.”

 

“I know,” she whispers in the dark. “There  _ are _ no other men like you, just you, right?” She pulls her hand back and says, “I haven’t gotten to the best part. Or the worst part, I suppose...I...I still slept with him. Pathetic, I know, but I decided that being a virgin was just one more thing people could use against me. I just wanted to get rid of it and I knew he wouldn’t turn down easy sex, no matter how sorry he claimed to be.”

 

“I’m guessing it wasn’t the best…” She lets him slip his arms around her. She’s rigid with tension.

 

“Well, I was angry and impatient and I hated him, so I wanted to hurry up. It ended up being pretty painful....and generally horrible overall…” She lets out a breath and relaxes a fraction. “I went home for Christmas break and never went back. I moved back to King’s Landing anyway because--well, frankly because I could actually afford to, but also because I missed my friends. I had pretty much never had friends before, so that felt like a really important reason.”

 

“Gods, Brienne,” he says, holding her closer. She turns to him and puts her arms around him, tucking her face against his neck. “This explains so much.”

 

“I know,” she says miserably. “I always like to think that I got over it and doesn’t effect me like it used to, but...obviously it does. Obviously it left...a mark…”

 

“Brienne, your darkest secret is that some horrible assholes did something awful  _ to you _ . No one deserves that, and you didn’t do  _ anything _ to deserve that. I know, because I know  _ you _ .” 

 

She sighs against him and tightens her grip. They float like that in the darkness for a few long minutes. She feels so good against him. Fuck, this is definitely not the moment to get an erection. Then she kisses him and he supposes he no longer has control of that situation. Her lips taste of salt. She whispers his name and kisses him with sudden desperation. He kisses her back, trying to put as much desire as he can into it. He’s working against at  _ least _ six years of damage. Tyrion can certainly find out who these sorry co-eds are.

 

She pulls back and says, “You’ll never lie to me.”

 

“I’ll never lie to you,” he vows.

 

“Lies by omission count!”

 

“Of course. Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I dressed up in women’s clothes once. Is that an ugly enough truth?”

 

She laughs and says, “Jaime, I’m a fashion photographer!” Then she slaps his shoulder and says, “Be serious.”

 

“Very serious. I understand much better now. By the way, what are the names of these classmates?”

 

“Mm, I can’t see your face, but I’m sure your expression would tell me not to give you that information.”

 

“I think you did say you punched them already, but who says they can’t be punched more?” 

 

She chuckles and says, “I’ll tell you a funny story about that tomorrow. Let’s get back. We’ll be all wrinkled up by the time we get there.” She kisses him again for a few lingering moments.

 

They swim back and collapse with exhaustion for a few minutes before they get going. He’s once again glad he took that nap. He spends the whole trip back with his arms around Brienne while she steers and elbows him, calling him ‘pest’.

 

It’s past midnight by the time they get back. They kiss long and hard in the hallway between their rooms but she still shyly says that she’ll sleep in her room. He agrees and kisses her one last time before they part.

 

He comes in the shower, thinking of Brienne’s body against his in the darkness while she told him all her secrets. Then he’s filled again with rage at the thought of the fucking pricks from her college and he seriously wonders if he could have them killed. Of course, Brienne would never let him do that. She’s too honorable.

 

He climbs into bed still smiling. He had been so certain, even on the way to Tarth, that it was over. That any minute with her could be the last one. That she would have come to her senses and realized that she’s too good for him. Too smart, too brave, too honest. But she’s blind to her own value. He understands that better now, and he wishes she were here with him if only so he could hold her.

 

He sighs happily and wonders if he’ll dream of her in a cave again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you shed more tears?  
> The trip to Tarth has drastically changed the trajectory of this story. More info to come...


	12. The Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day on Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has supported this story! Please note the changes to the rating and chapter total.

 

 

 

 

The Light of Day

 

 

 

Brienne wakes to the bright sunshine of a crisp Tarth spring day. She didn’t dream. She was so exhausted from the night before that she had barely had the energy to shower and fall into bed. Still, she had thought of going to him. She had only said she would sleep in her own room because she didn’t know what she would do in the dizzy state she had been in. It was a cowardly move and she decides to rectify it this morning.

 

She had been frightened the night before, leading him in the darkness. Like her sword room at home, she wasn’t sure if she wanted her most sacred place tainted by a bad memory. But she feels good about what happened in the cave. She wasn’t even sure what she had been hoping for when she guided the boat along the coast. She just knew that she had to know the truth. She hadn’t really planned on telling him about Hyle Hunt. But Jaime had made himself so vulnerable, for  _ her,  _ that it had somehow felt safe to tell him.

 

Then, after all their terrible confessions, they had still laughed and touched and kissed, and she had felt a lightness inside that she had never known. She curses herself for running away from him when they got back, but it’s easy to make confessions and declarations in the dark. Some things need to see the light of day.

 

She rolls out of bed and brushes her teeth before she slowly makes her way next door to Jaime’s room. She knocks quietly, then louder, without a response before she opens the door and looks inside. She calls his name softly and then enters the room, rushing to the bed when she realizes the room is empty. Her heart clenches and begins to pound. She says his name again, stupidly, as if she can conjure him here.

 

She’s holding her hands over her face when she hears the floor creak behind her. She spins around to see Jaime in the doorway, in nothing but his boxers and carrying a mug in each hand. He smiles when he sees her, but his expression changes when he sees her face. He sets the mugs down and comes closer to her.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

In a weak voice, she says, “You were gone.”

 

“Yeah, I thought I might bring you coffee in bed.” Which is so sweet that she feels traitorous tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. 

 

“Oh.”

 

“You thought I’d gone.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question.

 

She swallows hard and tries to force some steadiness into her voice. “Only for a minute.”

 

He reaches up and touches her cheek, traces his thumb over her lips. “One minute too long. You won’t get rid of me that easily, wench. Besides,” he says, gesturing to the suitcase she now sees open on the floor next to the bed. “All my things are still here. How wasteful would that be?”

 

She’s stuck somewhere between laughing and crying when he kisses her, winding his fingers into her unbrushed hair and urging her back towards the bed. All she went to bed in was unexciting underwear and a t-shirt that says ‘I Need Vitamin Sea’; it’s not especially tight, but it’s short, and she’s glad she didn’t change when Jaime moves his hand up her thigh and drags the shirt up to her ribs, still kissing her. 

 

He pulls away enough to say, “You really thought I left?” Brienne cringes and looks at the floor between them.

 

She’s completely shocked when Jaime grips the hem of her shirt and all but tears it off. 

 

“Jaime!” she shrieks, trying to cover herself and back away. Unfortunately, the bed is the only thing behind her and falls on it. “What are you doing?!”

 

“You obviously still don’t believe me when I say I want you. Consider this the first step,” he says, gently grasping her wrists and attempting to pry her arms away from her body. “To me convincing you.”

 

Her face burns and her heart pounds again as she resists. “It’s daylight!”

 

Jaime pulls harder with an impatient sigh. “I already know what you look like, wench!”

 

“You’ll be disappointed,” she bites out. They’re struggling properly now, like a truly absurd game of tug-of-war.

 

Suddenly, Jaime looks over her shoulder and gasps. He lets go of one arm and points behind her. “A mouse!”

 

“What?” she cries, twisting around to look.

 

While she’s distracted, Jaime grabs both her arms and manages to pin her to the bed. Brienne gapes at him in disbelief.

 

“You godsdamn cheater!” 

 

He smirks and says, “All’s fair, wench.” He leans over her, gleaming gold in the morning light. “I  told you I was strong enough,” he smirks.

 

“I’m  _ letting _ you win,” she says sullenly.

 

“I know,” he replies. “Thank you.”

 

“ _ You’re _ the one who said I was uglier in daylight,” she grumbles.

 

“That’s how I first saw you. I wanted you then, and I want you now.” He lowers himself to her body and kisses her until the tension in her frame eases.

 

Then, he sits back, kneeling between her legs and palming her thighs. “Now,” he says slowly, urging them further apart. “Don’t hide.” Brienne takes a deep breath and presses her hands into the rumpled sheets beneath her, closing her eyes against the light. “And don’t close your eyes.”

 

“You want me to stare at the ceiling the whole time?”

 

“No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I want you to  _ watch _ me.”

 

“What?! No!” She looks at him and even the briefest glance of him in between her overly-freckled thighs makes her mouth dry. She gasps and quickly looks back at the ceiling. “That’s not happening.”

 

“I need you to see that I’m not pretending. Look at me right now,” he demands.

 

She could really kick him off the bed and tell him to get off her island if she wanted to. Instead, she sits up enough to meet his eyes. She half-expects him to tear her underwear off, but he just drags them impatiently down her legs. He settles himself between them before she can think much and it takes every bit of her stubborn willpower not to cover herself and roll away in mortification. But she grips the sheets and forces herself to watch him look at her,  _ everywhere _ , in the relentlessly bright light that seemed so gentle when she had clothes on. She bites her lip when he finally makes his way up to her eyes. The look of desire and determination there is so sharp that it sends a flare of heat through her that makes it difficult not to reach for him.

 

Jaime smiles slightly and says, “Does it look like I’m faking anything to you, wench?” Something eases inside her and she lets him part her legs further. 

 

“No.”

 

“No. Now keep watching.”

 

He very slowly, painstakingly kisses his way up from her ankles. More than once, Brienne squeezes her eyes closed, protesting that she can’t do this. Every time, he stops and waits until she looks at him again. Somewhere between her knees and her hips, he chuckles and says, “It’ll be sundown by the time I get to your navel.”

 

She watches him make his way up her thick thighs, the thighs she’s always cursed for being too big, the hips she’s always cursed as too straight, the waist that’s always been too wide, the breasts that are too small, and finally to her strange, ugly face. All the while, he looks at her with such want that it makes her dizzy. Dizzy and confused and afraid, but she can’t deny it anymore. He wants her. _Wants._ _Her._

 

He must see something in her face or feel something in her body because he smirks and says, “Now you’re getting it.” He leans down and kisses her. “The next time you think I’m lying, remember  _ this _ .” He guides her hand between them and her breath catches at the feeling of his cock, hard and hot in her grip. For a wild moment, she wants to pull him to her and  _ beg _ him to fuck her, but he moves before she can, back between her legs, where he skipped over before, stopping only to nuzzle against the heavy curls there, which had made her squeal and almost kick him off the bed after all.

 

Now, she sets aside her self-consciousness and watches as he settles there, spreading her apart and staring  _ there  _ too until she finally moans his name impatiently. Then she seems to dissolve instantly under the force of his tongue tracing over her and his grasp is the only thing that keeps her on the bed.

 

She has tears in her eyes when he rises. “Why tears?” he asks softly.

 

“I don’t know,” she replies. “But I’m happy.”

 

Jaime slants his sticky mouth over hers and kisses her until she lays boneless and breathless underneath him, then some more until she’s restlessly moving against him where they’re sealed together by slick heat, where he slips and slides against her, so close to where she suddenly knows she wants him. He gets off the bed and her torn t-shirt is joined by his torn boxers. 

 

Brienne is glad she has her eyes open to see him kneeling, naked, at the foot of the bed, his cock twitching and leaving a wet streak across his abs, which are as absurdly perfect as the rest of him. She’s about to pull him down, down to her and  _ in _ to her, when he reaches down and presses two fingers inside her, licking his lips quite obscenely when he finds her soaking wet. He moves them in and out for a minute, watching a fresh flush work its’ way over her, from her sweaty hair to her nipples.

 

Then, he drags them out, gathering the wetness there, and  _ fuck _ , rubs it over the length of his not-at-all unimpressive cock. She can see him squeeze, the muscles of his forearm flexing and moving. He lets out a noise and starts to move his hand. His gaze is back on her and Brienne finds that she can’t look away from him, though she’s torn between his eyes, his hand, and passing out.

 

He says her name. Her  _ name. Her _ name. He is not pretending she’s someone else. He’s not doing this because it’s convenient, or because he feels bad for her, or thinks he needs to be polite. His eyes are heavy and dark and they roam over her, leaving her with shivers that propel her forward to smack his hands away and take over. It only takes a minute for Jaime to groan, “Thank the gods for your upper body strength, wench,” gripping her arms and coming between them. It feels scorching on her already-hot skin.

 

Jaime collapses next to her, still breathing hard, and cleans himself off with the sheet, which will definitely need washing before the housekeeper comes. She doesn’t need loose lips telling her father she was swapping fluids with a strange man all over his expensive Dornish cotton sheets.

 

Jaime pulls her to him in an instant. It’s too sticky and warm, but she stays there, tangling their legs together and clinging to him in a way she would usually never allow herself to. His response is to hold her even closer, until it should feel claustrophobic, sharing breath and bumping heads. She feels like she’s floating in the sunlight.

 

Eventually, Jaime softly asks what all this means for them in King’s Landing.

 

Brienne looks at him and says, without hesitation, “We’ll figure it out together.” He breathes a sigh of relief and drops his head to her chest. “It’ll be complicated, but...I think...it’s worth it to try.”

 

He presses a kiss over her heart. “I’m happy to hear that.”

 

She runs her fingers through his hair and murmurs, “We have to go back tomorrow, you know.”

 

“So soon?” he groans.

 

“Are you kidding? I’ve had my phone off for almost five days. If I wait any longer, it’ll be easier to just fake my own death. But...for today, all we have to do is enjoy Tarth and have fun.”

 

“Enjoy  _ Brienne _ Tarth?” he purrs, running his fingers over her nipples.

 

“There may be some enjoyment,” she says slowly, urgently wanting to hide under the covers as soon as she says it.

 

Jaime hums against her skin and says, “Can I give you another foot massage?” Before she can answer, he groans and rolls away, saying, “I have to take a cold shower or we’ll be getting a very late start.”

 

“Why didn’t you fuck me?” she blurts out. She puts a hand over her mouth, cringing.

 

“Wench, if you didn’t notice, it would have lasted about sixty seconds. Don’t worry,” he smirks. “We still have a whole day, remember?” He gets out of the bed and leans down to kiss her. “Meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

 

Brienne lounges in the bed for a minute while he showers. She feels rather pleased with herself. She hadn’t kicked him, or run away, or cried very much at all, and that had actually pretty much been her worst nightmare. Has she really only known him for six weeks? Why can she  _ cry _ in front of him without wanting to sink into the earth? Something in her has changed. Maybe for the better.

 

She takes her own shower and puts on some leggings and a blue tank top over a swimsuit. Today, they’ll finish their tour of the armory. Then, they’ll go out in the fishing boat, catch something for lunch, and grill it on the beach. Then, they’ll drive the Jeep out to the waterfalls. It’s a beautiful hike, but she would rather Jaime conserve his energy for tonight.

 

She meets him downstairs. Looking at him with his wet hair and tight shirt, she wants to cancel their plans, but she grabs a bag of smoked fish and a bottle of iced vine tea and they set out for the armory. Once they’re there, she rather forgets about anything but the ancient weapons and armor and they spend two hours there. He does not give her another foot massage because there are several tourists there today, which doesn’t stop Jaime from occasionally whispering things in here ear to make her blush.

 

She hustles him to the boat so they can get a good afternoon catch. They catch enough quite quickly, but they stay out on the water for hours, talking about anything and everything, until their voices are hoarse and her eyes are red from more spilled secrets. They lay on the deck for a little while, tangled again into a too-hot pile. She’s looking forward to the cold water of the falls later. They’ll have to find a shady spot to eat lunch. She needs more sunscreen.

 

Somewhere in the middle of these mundane thoughts, she realizes she loves him. So this is what it feels like. Like running into danger and yelling, “Take me!” It feels like... _ surfing _ . Grabbing on to something scary and powerful and hoping it won’t kill you. Maybe it’s completely crazy. But she does loves surfing. Even after the wave that broke her nose. Jaime asks what she’s laughing about. She asks when he last tried his hand at surfing.

 

Neither of them feels like cleaning and cooking their catch, so they stick it in the freezer at Evenfall and instead have fish tacos from a roadside stand on their way to the waterfalls. Gods, she missed good fish. King’s Landing has fish, obviously, but the waters there can’t compare to the purity of Tarth’s. She will miss it all over again when she leaves tomorrow. She hopes they can come back someday...in the future... _ their  _ future, if the gods are good. 

 

She tries not to let her head get too far into the clouds. It won’t always be easy. They can’t hide on Tarth forever.  _ Why not _ ? Because her life is in King’s Landing, and she won’t abandon it because things get a little complicated.

 

She strips down to her bathing suit and dives into the pool at the base of the falls, feeling Jaime’s eyes on her all the while. There are some tourists here as well, so they can’t do anything but kiss for a moment or two and then circle each other in the water until they get another chance to do the same.

 

Jaime is so enamored of the fish tacos that they get more on the way back down. They take a walk on the beach and she turns to him without fear and says, “Stay with me tonight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, going to Tarth really changed the trajectory of the story. Please note the change in chapter numbers!
> 
> Please comment if you are enjoying the story.
> 
> Seamscribe fighting!


	13. Equal Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night on Tarth.

 

 

 

Equal Force

 

 

 

They have to change the sheets before they do anything else. They’re still sticky and tangled from that morning, Jaime notes with satisfaction. It had been a risky gambit, but it had been worth it to see the look on her face when she finally understood that he wanted her, the look on her face when she came for him, her mouth bitten and wet, open on a moan while she writhed beneath him... _ fuck _ , he’s glad she’ll be out of the shower any minute.

 

It’s been an incredible day. The armory had been fascinating, but still not as fascinating as all the sudden insight he got into Brienne.

 

She told him about the brother she loved so much who died when she was thirteen in a white water rafting accident: 

 

“It was hard to say for sure what happened, exactly, because everyone was panicking and his body--ahh--mm...his body washed up quite a few miles away. For a few hours, we just kept thinking he would turn up...anyway, he had a cut on his head, so the dummy wasn’t wearing a helmet. A wave probably came and threw him from the raft. They  _ knew _ the water was up from the storm. He was always reckless when he was with his stupid friends. I would have made him wear a helmet….anyway, _ I  _ was never allowed to go white rafting again.”

 

The summer of silence:

 

“I didn’t speak for about three months. Galladon died in May, so it was that whole summer. At first, everyone just thought I was grieving weirdly. Then it was like everyone just kind of accepted it. I was always pretty shy and quiet with most people, so I guess it wasn’t a huge difference. I always felt like my brother was the only person who really accepted me and listened to me, so if he was gone, I didn’t see the point in saying anything.

“No one commented on it for a long time except to say I didn’t have very good table manners because I only ever pointed to the salt. I’d just look at them until they passed the salt. Then they’d just say I was a strange child and move on. It only really became a problem when I had to start school. The teachers thought there was something wrong with me. The kids called me Bri-tard for the rest of the semester. They made me go to a therapist and get a  _ brain scan _ , and at that point it was just drawing too much attention, so one day, I just said good morning to my dad and we never brought it up again.”

 

Her sociopathic tutor:

 

“School was terrible, so my dad pulled me out and got me a tutor for the rest of that semester. But truthfully, I think my tutor did more damage than my classmates...I was still really quiet, I really only spoke when I absolutely had to, so Ms. Roelle told me all the time that I was stupid, probably too stupid to teach,  _ and _ boring, and that it was too bad because I really didn’t have  _ anything _ to attract a man, what would I do, what would I do, what a shame for my father.”

 

At this point, he had to stop her and ask how long this went on and how the hell her father didn’t know. As far as he was concerned, it was pretty much neglect bordering on abuse to make Brienne spend everyday with such a woman. He would have words with this man. But Brienne had empathy for her father anyway, the soft-hearted wench.

 

“My father and I weren’t all that close at the time. I think it really hurt him that I wouldn’t talk to him about Galladon. But I didn’t see the point in saying I missed him. I didn’t learn for a long time that talking about it can’t bring anyone back, but it  _ can _ make it easier. Besides, I never told him, did I?”

 

Every bit of herself that she shared made putting the puzzle together a lot easier. Frankly, he’s impressed that she’s as well-adjusted as she is. He must have her friends to thank for that, because she maintains that leaving KLU was the best decision of her life.

 

In turn, he tells her about the death of her mother. Tywin’s slow freeze from stern father to distant oppressor. Trying to protect Tyrion from both his father and his sister, without appearing to care  _ too _ much in case it aroused Cersei’s anger even more. She always wanted to destroy anything else that made him happy. He always disgusted with himself when he let his brother be hurt, which was too often even once. Tyrion is good to forgive him, but Jaime will never feel like he’s earned that forgiveness. Still, Brienne reminds him, he has the rest of his life to be a better brother.

 

Being torn away from both of them when his father sent him away to boarding school at fourteen, turning Jaime’s resentment into hate. Then a little freedom in King’s Landing...before Cersei married Robert Baratheon. After that, it was just twelve long years of secrecy and sacrifice in the name of something that fell apart under pressure like an egg cracking once he started to defy her. The empty, draining dates trying to forget her.

 

On the way back to the dock, Brienne had glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled widely. It made her lips look even bigger and her pretty eyes crinkled up in the corners and he thought,  _ I love her _ . But he had known that already, hadn’t he?

 

She finally comes out of the bathroom in a plume of steam with her hair all scruffed up and smelling like coconuts and olive oil, even from the bed. “Finally!” Jaime cries. “Come to bed, wench.”

 

“I’ve let you get away with calling me that all the time because we’re on vacation, kind of,” she says, coming to the bed and putting one knee up next to him. In a very smooth move that’s a testament to her leg workouts, she straddles his waist, in her towel and nothing else but a bright red blush that’s working its way down to the rosy peaks of her nipples. “But no more.”

 

“Mm, you’re acting very wench-like right now,  _ Brienne _ ,” he replies, running his hands up her thighs and under the edge of the towel.

 

“A wench actually just means a young woman,  _ Jaime _ , you old pervert.”

 

“I’m  _ old _ now? I will show you old,  _ wench,” _ he says, sitting up and tugging at the towel. She lets him pull it off and toss it aside before she presses close to him, putting her arms around him. He flips them over and kisses her fiercely until she pushes him back, whispering his name.

 

“Are you ready?” Brienne asks softly.

 

“Brienne...I just wanna make sure you know that you’re too good for me.” Her face changes from concerned to baffled.

 

“I’m too?…”

 

“You’re young and smart and you have so much ahead of you…”

 

“Oh boy…”

 

“Let me finish. You really deserve someone...better. Someone perfect, actually.”

 

Brienne stops him and says, “Maybe in a perfect world, I’d have a perfect boyfriend. But we live in  _ this _ world and...I happen to like the boyfriend I’ve got.”

 

“I just hope you’re not doing this because you think...it has to be this way.”

 

She chews her lip for a moment and then she looks up at him through her pale lashes and says, “Trust me, Jaime.” 

 

And her kiss soothes all his worries, so when she asks again if he’s ready, he takes a breath and says, “I am.”

 

“Me too,” she smiles. 

 

“But come down here so I can hold you.”

 

They lay side by side for a bit, kissing and getting tangled again. Gods, he loves her long legs that could probably strangle him. The strength of her gentled for him.

 

He retrieves the condoms he had thankfully packed in a moment of extreme optimism. She reminds him that it’s been over a year for her,which explains how unbelievably, amazingly tight she is around him, as well as the weak noise and catch of her breath when he pushes all the way inside her. She holds him close, wrapping her legs around him. 

 

He kisses every bit of skin he can reach until she relaxes underneath him with a sigh, welcoming him into her and pressing her heels into his back, driving him forward. She gasps and meets his eyes for a moment. She smiles again, biting her lip. She says his name in her sweet voice that becomes scratchy before they’re done. She moves to meet him with equal force, clasps him with equal force.

 

He moves one hand to her breast and one hand between her pale, trembling thighs. It’s an awkward balance, but it doesn’t take long before Brienne is shaking and shuddering underneath and around him until white noise fills his brain and he comes, shouting her name against her skin.

 

“Am I crushing you?” he asks after a few minutes of catching their breath.

 

“Mm-hmm,” she confirms, not sounding too upset about it. 

 

“Do you want me to move?”

 

“Mmm. If you have to.” 

 

Jaime chuckles smugly at that and gets out of bed to clean up and turn out the lights. Brienne curls up against him and whispers, “That was worth waiting for, I think.” She leans up to kiss him and lingers there for a few moments, simply tracing her lips over his jaw before she lays down with a happy sigh. “We should get some sleep. We’ll take the ten AM flight back.” 

 

“Ten AM?” he groans. “We should just take the jet,” he grumbles.

 

“Not happening,” she says firmly. “Jaime, a private jet is so wasteful!”

 

“I need leg room! And we can hardly fuck on a regular plane. Even in first class,” he chuckles. “Does that convince you at all?”

 

“No,” she says, less firmly this time. “Go to sleep, pest!”

 

Although they’ve both been sleeping alone for a long time, neither finds it hard to fall asleep that night.

 

***

 

Brienne wakes to another perfect Tarth morning. She had woken up in the middle of the night and had the presence of mind to set her alarm and set it to vibrate under her pillow so it will wake her, but not Jaime. It’s seven AM, which should give them time for some quick sex and an unhurried breakfast. Or not-so-quick sex and a very hurried breakfast. Whichever.

 

She curls up for a moment, taking time to savor the feeling of waking up next to him, watching the sun dance on his broad shoulders and golden hair. She doesn’t wonder if it’s a dream because she has to pee like crazy. She goes to the bathroom and then regretfully turns her wifi on long enough to let Loras know she’ll be back that afternoon. 

 

Jaime is starting wake up when she comes back from the bathroom, running his hand over the warm place she’s left behind. He smiles when he sees her in the doorway, cracking one eye open before dropping his head back onto the bed with a groan.   

 

“What time is it?” he grumbles. Brienne climbs back into the bed and he immediately latches onto her. She feels him already hard against her hip.

 

“Seven,” she replies, turning to him and pressing close.

 

“Seven? Why are you up so early?”

 

“Well, truthfully…I wanted to make sure we had enough time to do it again before we left,” she says sheepishly. “We fell asleep so fast last night.”

 

“Ahh,” Jaime says, dragging her against him. “Not satisfied with once, wench?”

 

Brienne pulls away enough to punch him on the shoulder. “Are  _ you _ satisfied with once?” she challenges.

 

Jaime rolls on top of her and says, “I can’t imagine I’ll ever be satisfied.” He kisses her roughly for a moment and then stops to say, “But what happened to ‘ _ Jaime, it’s daylight’ _ ?”

 

“Jaime.”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Shut up.” 

 

She’s still a bit sore from last night--Jaime is not small and she hasn’t worked out those particular butt muscles in a long time. But after a minute or two, it feels comfortable. Comfortable and warm...deep and slow...until it becomes clear that there will be no breakfast and that she will need either a scarf or a literal  _ ton _ of cover-up before they leave. Jaime kisses her neck, stopping every now and then to look her in the eye, in a way that makes shivers overcome her.

 

They  _ almost _ do it again in the shower, but then they’ll really miss their flight. They bicker idly about the godsdamned Lannister family jet on the way to the airport. They get there with just enough time to drop off the Jeep and grab coffee and breakfast for the plane. She had really wanted him to experience the traditional Tarth breakfast, but that will have to wait for some other time. At least she got a few pounds of smoked fish to take back.

 

She finally turns on her phone on the plane. She’s been gone for five days...she has two hundred eighty-eight emails and messages. Many of them are from Loras detailing the changes to her schedule and always ending with: ‘THIS IS ISN’T MY JOB GET A FUCKING PA’.

 

Unfortunately, he also tells her that videos and pictures from that godsdamn party have been circulating. They’re a hot topic now. What is the relationship between Jaime Lannister and his sister? Does his sister disapprove of Brienne Tarth? Does Brienne Tarth have a secret? She takes a deep breath. She knew this might happen. 

 

But it gets worse: they were both spotted flying to Tarth at the Aegon International Airport. Then someone spotted them at the airport in Tarth and managed to get a picture of them holding hands. Gods...she hadn’t been wearing any make-up that day, and probably had something hideous on...Margaery has sent her a message as well:  _ Wear something nice! _

 

She hadn’t brought anything nice! She sighs. Everyone will have to be satisfied with jeans and a button-down  _ mens _ shirt that at least has blue vertical stripes...and scarf, yes, to cover up the string of bite marks that Jaime left along her collarbone. On top of that, there’s a long message from Catelyn, no doubt detailing all the ways she’s making a huge mistake getting involved with the Lannisters--they’re all one evil entity to Mrs. Stark.

 

Brienne sets her phone down with a sigh as the plane takes off. She has six hours to worry about it, she needn’t start now.

 

She joins Jaime in looking out the window during the ascent. As Tarth shrinks underneath them, Jaime asks, “Should we have our honeymoon here?”   


 

Brienne raises a brow. “Our what, now?”

 

“Honeymoon. See, darling, it’s when two people--”

 

“Oh, shut up,” she says, punching his arm. “We’re not having a honeymoon!”

 

“You wanna go right back to work after the wedding,” he nods. “I really admire your work ethic.”

 

Turning red, she says, “The island air is getting to you.”   


 

“This is airplane air.”

 

“You’re a serial monogamist.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t have to be if you married me. Then I could just be a regular monogamist.”

 

_ Is this  _ another _ absurd Lannister way of proposing?  _ “You can ask in six months if you still think you want to.”

 

“ _ Six months _ ?” he protests. He puts his arms around her. “I don’t need that long to know I wanna be with you, and I don’t believe you do either.”

 

“Maybe I need all that time to plan the wedding.”

 

“Yeah, right! You’re more likely to drag me down to the courthouse at five AM.”

 

Brienne has to laugh at that. She turns to him and they sit together for a bit, forgetting what’s around them and ahead of them for the moment.

 

After a while, Jaime takes her hand and whispers, “Will I wake up with you again tomorrow?”

 

“Yes.” Some tension in him eases. “But...there’s one question we have to answer first, Jaime.”

 

“What is it?”

 

Brienne lays her head on his chest and murmurs, “Whose bed is more comfortable?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> SO, Tarth changed the trajectory of this story completely. It was supposed to involve more of Jaime and Brienne's overall arc, but I decided this is a nice stopping point so readers can stop with a completed and happy ending.
> 
> That said, I do plan on writing more in this verse! Obviously Cersei is still out there! Not sure how fast or how much, but please anticipate! Seamscribe fighting!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Model inspirations are Daphne Groeneveld and Stacey McKenzie, also a little Gwendoline Christie, of course.


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